Restoration
by CarolynneRuth
Summary: A modern day fic. After the accident Arthur was but a former shadow of himself. Damaged. Broken. He never thought he would find friendship or even the true meaning of love. Because who could now ever love him like this? Romance. Friendship. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue**_

* * *

He had it all. Lots of money, good looks, and a hot physique the girls couldn't resist. Or maybe that was the money. Either way he hadn't cared. He was having a good time and his life was just peachy. He lived it to the fullest. He had been the Captain of the high school football team. The most popular guy in school. He'd received dux at the completion of high school and went to the best College in the country. He was 23 years of age. Having finished his degree two years ago. He'd been working in his father's firm ever since. The high flying entrepreneur. The apple of his father's eye.

He had a beautiful girlfriend. Long legged, sapphire blue eyes and long blonde hair that felt like silk to touch.

He was the envy of his friends.

Then it was all gone in a blink of an eye.

One rainy night, a terrible storm. He'd never seen the truck swerve onto his side of the road till it was too late. The last thing he remembered was the sound of screeching brakes, the smell of burning sulphur assailing his nostrils and then the twisting metal. So much twisting metal. Pain hit his whole body, hot prongs of burning pain. He was screaming as the metal crushed his body, and then welcomed the darkness that claimed him.

He was dead. His body floating in a lake. The water was soothing against his burning flesh. A woman held him in her arms. Her long brown hair floating across his chest. It reminded him of the days when he'd been a small boy, his mother holding him in her arms, comforting him. Before she had been taken from him.

_Rest Arthur. Your time will come soon._

He allowed her to lead him into the cocoon of warmth and peace the water offered him. This is where he belonged now. He had been here before. He had always been here … and such a long time.

_Arthur … no! Arthur!_

The voice was pleading, laced with desperation and so much pain. Always the pain.

_Arthur! Come on. Arthur!_

That voice, so compelling, so heart breaking sad in its grief. A face flashed briefly before him. So brief, that he only caught the bluest, saddest eyes he'd ever seen. A word formed on his lips. Just one word. He struggled to voice it but he had to. He had to say it. It was impervious that he knew.

"M-M … lin."

Unbelievable pain exploded through his body. He felt his chest heave and gasped in a lungful of air.

It felt like he was on fire. He longed for the sanctuary the lake had offered him.

"No. No. No."

His own voice sounded gargled in his ears. Not like him. This wasn't him. He wanted to be dead. The pain. The excruciating pain. He started screaming. Tears streamed down his face.

"Sedate him!" someone yelled. "Now!"

His body started to convulse.

"He's going into shock."

A siren was wailing in his ears. People rushed about, panicked looks upon their faces.

_Merlin! Merlin! Where are you? I need you._

The shaking subsided. Everything blurred before him and his eyes drifted shut. A numbness took hold and he slowly sank back into the darkness.

He remembered nothing more.

* * *

Across the other side of town a young man tossed and turned in his sleep. The tortured voice calling him, echoing through his mind; _Merlin … Merlin … where are you? I need you._

He sat up suddenly, startled. His eyes wide with fear. Heart beating erratically in his chest. He ran a hand through his now tangled, sweat drenched hair. How his hand shook terribly.

But it was just a dream.

He wasn't Merlin.

He drew in a deep breath of air and lay back down. Feeling cold. The dream had disturbed him in more ways than one. He shivered pulling the doona snugly around his thin shoulders. His face felt damp. Raising a hand he wiped his eyes, only to find them wet with tears.

This was crazy.

He let out a mirthless laugh. "I'm losing it." It was now official.

But the tears continued along with the deep ache in his heart.

_I've lost him … he's my friend … Arthur! No! Arthur!_

He rubbed his chest. Squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't even know an Arthur.

This was ridiculous. It was just some stupid dream.

By the morning he wouldn't even remember it.

.

.

* * *

**A/N: This idea came to me late the other night. I also felt like writing a little Arthur/Gwen romance story. And Merlin. There is no Arthur without Merlin by his side. This isn't going to be a long epic story. I haven't forgotten my other story. It's just that the fanfic site has been rather difficult of late and I decided to do my own thing.**

**It really is about what the title says, 'Restoration'. In this case restoration of love and friendship in Arthur's life. It'll probably be around five chapters, give or take one or two, depending on how the story progresses. Gwen doesn't feature in this prologue but she is a main character within the story.**

**If you would like me to continue please let me know. I love and appreciate reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey thanks for the wonderful reviews! Loved reading them and you all seem very keen for me to continue this story so here is the next chapter. And only two days later! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_**CHAPTER 1. Eight Months Later**_

* * *

Pity. How Arthur hated it. That is all he had seen in people's eyes since his accident; pity. He was well aware that he wasn't the man he used to be. Painfully so.

His broken and battered body had slowly healed. Though physically scarred. It was the emotionally scarring that had damaged him the most. Constant nightmares still plagued him. He resorted to drinking at nights to stop them.

It seemed pain was to be his constant companion. Forever having numerous physical therapy sessions to restore the damage that had been done to his body.

'_You have suffered an injury to your spine, lumbar-sacral disc 1 and 2, luckily for you it is an incomplete injury which means with rehabilitation you may walk again with assistance in 12 months."_

_May, may walk again! 12 months!_

_It felt as if the ground beneath him had fallen away._

Women wouldn't look at him again either. The first time he'd seen his reflection in the mirror he'd been horrified.

This wasn't him.

This couldn't be him.

'_You've received fifty percent third degree burns to your body.'_

His face was swollen to nearly twice its size. It looked like he'd just been in the boxing ring with Mike Tyson.

'_You're lucky to receive only minor burns to your face. They will heal, with very minimal scarring.'_

Lucky. There was that word again. He'd almost choked on it.

He wasn't lucky. He was supposed to take comfort from that?!

The fifty percent burns he'd receive were mostly to the right side of his body. Starting from just above his collar bone, his right arm and hand. He'd lost the tips of his fingers. The burns marred the flesh on his chest and back, his right leg. Along with the fracture to his spine, he had also received multiple crush fractures to his ribs. A fractured jaw, skull, collar bone, the list had gone on and on.

He hadn't been able to absorb it initially. Lying there like a useless lump in that hospital bed, wishing he was dead. Despite the doctors telling him he was lucky to be alive.

And ever since all he had seen was pity in people's eyes. Even worse, horror in his girlfriend's eyes when she first saw him.

It had been a month after the accident. The swelling to his face had started to go down. That was something but he still looked hideous. Judging from the look in her eyes.

It hurt. He didn't want her to see him like this.

He didn't want the pity. Deciding then and there to let her off the hook.

'_It's over. Leave me. I don't want to see you again.'_

She had sobbed. Made half an attempt to beg. But he still saw the relief in her eyes.

This is how it would be now.

There would be no more women for him. There wouldn't be a life. It was over. He was done.

He was hollow inside. Empty. Not even a former shadow of himself.

* * *

Life went on around him even if he wasn't living it.

He no longer cared about his appearance. What was the point? His hair grew out. He never cut it. It nearly reached his shoulders now. His father was forever nagging him about getting a haircut. When he wasn't nagging him about his drinking problem. Or nagging him about the number of occupational therapists he went through.

"I don't understand you Arthur?" His Father run an exasperated hand through his hair. "Don't you want to get better?"

Yes, but would he? He just couldn't see it happening. He was still confined to this damn wheel chair. Still useless. He'd already endured countless operations to repair shattered bones, numerous and ongoing skin grafts.

"It's been eight months Arthur," his father took a deep breath, concerned etched in the lines of his face, "You need to start getting over it. Put it behind you. Get on with your life."

If only. If only he could. But his life just lacked any purpose or meaning. Ironically, now that he thought more about it. It always had. Even before the accident. Deluding himself into believing he was happy. He'd been so vain, so shallow, and so comfortable in his rich lifestyle full of beautiful girls that had never really meant much to him. They were there to dangle on his arm, feed his ego and he had sex with them. Dumping them soon as he grew bored. Hell it's not as if women were going to ever look at him. He no longer even desired sex anymore.

It's just that something was lacking. He had lost a part of himself. Eyes that haunted his dreams. Sad, sorrowful eyes. The longing for someone, something he had lost. Or perhaps never had.

It's only when he dreamed of the lake that he felt at peace but there was great sadness there too. A name that whispered on the breeze.

He had muttered it constantly, according to his Father, in his semi-conscious state straight after the accident.

'_Who is Merlin?' his Father had asked._

_He had no idea._

'_You kept calling to him.'_

_He did? That was weird._

He hadn't told the shrink about that one. The lake. The eyes. A voice. A single name.

Last thing he needed was to be prescribed anymore bloody pills. He was already on enough of them; antidepressants, pain killers, tablets to help with the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder he was suffering from. They made him feel bloated, drowsy and gain weight. Then he'd be prescribed a different anti-depressant. Maybe the side effects would be less severe. _How about I just don't take them_, he'd snap.

Not an option. He'd tried it in fact. It got to the point where he didn't even want to get out of bed.

"I've decided it's about time you returned to work," his Father spoke.

He raised horrified eyes to him. Was he being serious?!

"You need something else to focus on. Work would be good for you."

No. No it wouldn't! It meant facing people, having conversations, answering questions he didn't want to.

"I've had the office redesigned so it's wheel chair friendly."

Great. Terrific. He could just imagine the office gossip. The pitying glances thrown his way. People whispering behind their hands to each other.

"Get you out of the house."

He didn't want to leave the house. What if he had a flashback? Being in a car was like being in hell.

"Please Arthur."

He felt a stab of guilt at the concerned expression on his Father's face. His father had aged a lot in the last eight months. In fact he'd seen a totally different side to his Father since the accident. His tough outer shell had taken some knocks.

"I'll try," he murmured.

His father smiled and patted his shoulder. "It'll only be for a couple of hours a day."

Yes because the rest of his day was already taken up with physical therapy and the rest. The Occupational therapist came every day at 10.00am. The gym had now been fitted out with the necessary equipment for his rehabilitation.

He did have some, limited, function in his legs. Enough to be able to get from his wheelchair and into his bed. Enough to go to the damn toilet by himself. At least he felt enough sensation to be able to take a shit and leak because for a while he hadn't even been able to do that. He was able to stand up on his own, providing he had something solid to hold onto. He was slowly getting back some independence. But it was just that; slow going.

He had also regained feeling in his legs so why was it so hard to move them? His legs wouldn't do what he wanted them to do and some days he felt like screaming at the heavens, or someone. It was always the occupational therapist that coped it, which is why he'd been through so many.

He wasn't the most patient person. And far from a saint.

"You can come with me in the morning."

His head shot up. So soon!

"I've already changed your therapy sessions till two in the afternoon. It means you'll have a new occupational therapist but you've been through so many I'm sure it won't matter."

Great, as usual his Father was just planning his whole life for him.

* * *

Arthur didn't freak out as much as he thought he would when his father drove him to work the next morning. Bloody pills had probably helped with that. As much as he hated taking them, they did work.

He effectively ignored the pitying glances people gave him. He didn't mean to be rude. He just didn't feel like talking. He'd see the way their eyes rested on his wheel chair, the pressurised bandage on his hand before quickly looking away.

He wheeled himself to his office, glad to shut himself away from preying eyes. Wanting to bury himself in his work and not have to think about anything else. Pushing the door open he almost collided with his secretary. Luckily she managed to get out of the way just in time.

"Gwen?"

Her eyes rested on him in surprise. A warm smile crossed her face.

"Arthur," she breathed. "You are back."

He suddenly felt awkward, self-conscious.

"I'm glad," she continued.

He nodded not knowing what to say. There once was a time when he was never lost for words. He expected to see the same pity in her eyes, but strangely there wasn't. She did just look glad to see him, like she had said.

But she had always been like that. Not one for dramatics. She went about her work in a calm and efficient manner. Always modest whenever he gave her a compliment, mostly to do with her work. She hadn't been his type. Nothing like the long legged blondes he usually took up with. She was short, and though not chubby she wasn't slender either. She dressed plainly. Hair always tied back in a bun. No scrap of makeup on her face. She was unusual for such a young woman. He sometimes used to tease her, call her 'no nonsense Gwen', but he liked having her as a secretary. She had a soothing presence.

Highly intelligent too. Sometimes she would say something funny, out of the blue mostly, making him laugh. She was also apt at putting him in his place.

Though not beautiful, when she smiled it lit up her face in a way that made her look … pretty.

"You are still here?" he asked, ignoring the mixed feelings currently coursing through him.

"I've been helping with your workload in your absence."

Of course, naturally, somebody would have to.

"Along with George."

He frowned. "Who is George?"

"Oh your Father hired him about six months ago. He's like the dogsbody around here. He's currently on leave."

That warm smile, he liked but didn't want to, crossed her face again.

"He's real nerdy, a people pleaser too. Gets annoying sometimes."

She was just standing there, chatting, as if nothing had changed. As if he hadn't changed. He could feel his guard slip just a fraction.

"I'm about to do the coffee run do you want one?"

He nodded. "Okay, I'll have a flat white."

"Flat white it is. When I get back I'll give you the run down on what's currently happening."

He had wanted to be alone. But he would need her help to her settle into his work after all this time.

He nodded, again. Shit, he wasn't used to having a normal conversation anymore.

She went to leave.

"Oh Gwen," he called.

She stopped halfway out of the door.

"Thanks."

She smiled warmly and left.

* * *

Gwen lent against the door after she had closed it. Almost sinking to the ground. Oh Arthur. He had changed so much. It wasn't the physical changes that bothered her. He looked better than she thought he would. She had visions of his face being scarred when she heard about the burns to his body but they were only minimal. It was the bleakness in those beautiful eyes of his that made her heart ache in a way she wished it wouldn't.

She had chided herself countless times for liking Arthur Pendragon. He was arrogant, had a reputation for going out with only beautiful women and dumping then at a rate of knots. She swore she would never be a notch on his belt. Not that that would ever happen. He had never looked twice at her. Why would he. Plain, frumpy Gwen.

He was friendly with her. Was himself, probably because he didn't see her as being anything more than his secretary. He hadn't felt the need to impress her. As a result she had gotten to see another side to him. He had a heart there somewhere. One day maybe it would even be a good heart. It wasn't often she saw it. She couldn't understand why he hid it? Couldn't he see how much of a better person he was when not acting the spoilt, arrogant rich brat? It was those rare glimpses of seeing a different side to him that had her liking him.

Then the accident happened.

Uther Pendragon had walked about the office in a daze for a good month or more.

Arthur was hurt and badly. It must have been hell for him.

She couldn't believe it. Much of what she learned about his injuries had been through office gossip.

At first it ranged from, Arthur being on his death bed. Arthur a quadriplegic. Arthur suffering severe brain damage. Arthur had suffered third degree burns to most of his body.

It had been horrible. Not knowing the true extent of his injuries. But as the months passed, the gossip died down.

Arthur was going to be okay.

Arthur was now out of hospital. He was getting better. Soon he would be returning back to work.

He wasn't brain damaged, or a quadriplegic, but he had suffered a spinal injury and third degree burns to fifty percent of his body. That was better than 'most of his body', apparently it was only half of his body. But what parts of his body and just how bad was it? Would he walk again?

Gwen hated office gossip in those early months. She would find herself thinking about him far more often than she would have liked. She had missed walking into his office in the morning and being greeted by his smiling face. The way the faint lines crinkled around his eyes. His slightly crooked front tooth that overlapped the other one. His was too sinfully handsome for his own good and knew it.

But there were no more smiles when she walked into his office that morning to give him his coffee. It was straight down to business. No teasing banter. It made her feel sad. _Where did you go Arthur?_

Did the accident steal his personality too? Leaving him nothing more than an empty shell of what he used to be. Not that she had always liked everything about his personality. He could be rude, insensitive and thoughtless. She had assumed that came with the territory; growing up a rich kid and having everything you ever wanted given to you on a silver platter. How she had hated him at first. Till she saw his softer side. That other side, the one he kept hidden. Maybe she never would have seen it if she hadn't let his taunts get to her. His usual insensitive comments directed at her.

'_Don't you have a social life Gwen?'_

_She'd continued to study the book, ignoring him. He was obviously bored and had now taken to assessing her. As he sometimes did. As if he was trying to figure her out._

'_Did some bloke do a number on you?' he'd continued. 'He did, didn't he?'_

_She froze, slowly raising her eyes to his. 'What?'_

'_The way you dress,' he drawled. 'Like a woman twice your age.'_

_Oh how his words hurt._

'_And your hair,' he said, oblivious to her discomfort, 'Always tied back in that tight bun which reminds me of those old starchy hospital matrons.'_

_She slammed the book shut. Eyes narrowing. Was he for real? _

'_What are you, all of 22 years of age and yet you dress like a nun?'_

_It really was too much._

'_Just because I don't go around wearing low hanging tops that leaves little to the imagination like those bimbos you go out with doesn't mean that I'm like this because of some man dumping me!' she'd exploded. Though in truth it was, just not quite in the way he put it._

_His eyes widened in surprise by her fiery outbursts._

'_Its men like you that put me off them!' _

_Much to her horror she felt tears well in her eyes. Not wanting him to see them, she quickly turned on her heel and ran out of his office._

_She found her usual hidey hole. A secluded corner under the staircase. Let the tears flow freely. Cursing Arthur Pendragon, cursing all men. _

_Of course he found her. She hadn't been quick enough. She hastily wiped her eyes waiting for some jeering remark. Is that why he had followed her?_

'_I'm sorry,' he spoke._

_He sounded so sincere and she glanced up at him. _

'_I was out of line,' he continued._

_He was being earnest. She could tell and it shocked her._

'_I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.'_

'_You didn't.'_

_He raised an eyebrow. 'Oh really, that's why you are crying and hiding under a staircase.'_

_She managed a small smile. His returning smile was full of warmth making her toes curl._

'_You're a jerk.'_

'_I know.'_

_She shook her head, her smile widening. He held out a hand to her._

'_C'mon I'll even make you a cup of coffee for a change.'_

_How could she refuse him? She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She would have toppled over but his hands rested on her shoulders, steadying her. She gazed up into those beautiful warm eyes of his and shit. Choosing to ignore the sudden increase in her heart rate. The heat spreading through her body at his touch._

'_You're blushing,' he observed in some amusement._

'_No I'm not.'_

'_Makes you look pretty.'_

'_Save it for your blonde bimbos,' she snorted._

_He laughed and pulled her along. 'I like you Gwen. You're different.'_

_She hadn't known whether to feel flattered or insulted, choosing the former. _

_From that day forward they were friends. Only ever work colleagues though. She never saw him socially, not including work parties that was. But he generally had some gorgeous looking woman on his arm and paid her scant attention._

_And how she had wished she still hated him._

"Gwen?"

His voice broke her from her musings. She looked across the desk at present day Arthur. The once boyish glean in his eyes now long gone. He really had been to hell and back.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Sorry, was just day dreaming," she murmured.

Once he would have asked her what about. Glad but also sad that he didn't. She wouldn't have known how to answer.

The sun light shining through the window made his golden hair look like a halo. It was so much blonder now it had grown out from the stylish trendy short haircuts he used to sport. It brushed against the collar of his shirt, nearly reaching his shoulders at the back.

He dressed so differently too. Not in those designer suits he used to wear. Now he wore simple black trousers. Plain buttoned up shirts, sleeves that went to his wrist. An equally plain simple jacket that he never took off no matter how hot it currently was in here. She figured it had to do with his scars. He probably didn't want people to see them.

He had gained some weight. Not that he was huge or anything, far from it. Just that he used to have such a hot physique that he wasn't afraid to flaunt or show off. She used to bitch about how vain he was to her flat mate.

How much had changed.

He was still beautiful to her, even if slightly damaged. It didn't change how she felt about him.

* * *

Martin just wanted this day to be over. As much as he loved his job as an Occupational Therapist there were some days that were so difficult he sometimes wished to be something simple like a mechanic. Work on fixing up cars instead of people. Of course he would never quit his job. He'd only just graduated a year ago. But it did often leave him physically and emotionally drained.

He was always born to serve, help out where needed. It'd always been in him. Part of him.

He poked his head around Rex's door and Rex looked up.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Have a seat Martin."

Martin did as he bid and sat down in the chair opposite his desk.

"I have a problem," he began, picking up a file from the stack to his right.

When wasn't there ever a problem, he dryly mused.

"Robert has been tending to this patient, but the Father changed the session time and he can no longer do it."

Martin nodded. His stomach began grumbling.

Rex frowned. "You need to eat son, you're far too skinny."

"I've always been like this, doesn't matter how much I eat."

"Lucky you," Rex sighed, "I'm not going to sugar coat it for you either Martin but this guy is a difficult case," he continued, "He's already been through numerous OT's. His daddy is a rich man and he's probably grown up with everything he's ever wanted. He's pretty much a basket case, angry and bitter."

Typical, he always did get lumbered with the most difficult patients.

"I want you to take on this particular patient," Rex continued confirming his worst fears.

"Why me?"

"You have an easy going nature. Difficult patient's respond well to you. It's like you can understand them and where they are at."

And he did, his own personal experiences had taught him that. That's what came about with having an abusive ex-step Father.

"So what happened to him?" he asked.

Rex handed him his file.

"Car accident," he informed.

Martin looked down at the file, frowning at the name; _Arthur Pendragon._

It rang a bell, where had he heard that name before?

"Fractured spinal cord, third degree burns to his back and chest, right arm and hand."

His vision blurred and he swallowed quickly. His hand shook for a reason that made no sense to him.

"He's suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome," Rex continued.

Martin wasn't surprised given what he'd been through.

"You understand that," he softly spoke.

He swallowed again. Ran a hand through his short black hair. Memories he didn't want to remember assailed him. He quickly suppressed them before they had the chance to surface.

"What makes you think I can help him?" he asked, raising his eyes to Rex.

He shrugged. "Just that there is something different about you Martin, something special."

Martin cocked his head to the side. "You're just saying that to butter me up."

Rex grinned. "You know me too well."

"Alright I'll do it then," he grumbled. "I'll probably live to regret it."

He stood up, taking the file. His eyes rested on the name again; Arthur Pendragon. The room blurred before him. _Arthur … No! Arthur!_

He swayed on his feet. A swift sudden pain tore through his heart. God he felt really weird. And sad. Why did he suddenly feel so sad? He didn't even know this Arthur.

"2.00pm tomorrow," Rex said, "The address is written on the front of the folder."

He blinked.

"You alright Martin? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

He managed to nod his head.

"I'm fine, been a long day."

That's why he was feeling odd. He just needed food and a good night sleep. Tomorrow he would face yet another difficult patient. Arthur Pendragon. He shook his head to clear it and left Rex's office.

He'd sort out this Arthur Pendragon. Arrogant, difficult, impatient people were his speciality after all. Though he had no idea why?

.

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* * *

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**A/N: Let me know what you think! Always love reading reviews. **

**I didn't want to do a whole Arthur in hospital story, been there done that. This also won't be a whole everyone remembering who they are (been there and done that too) but it does have a slight twist at the end. The essential characters within this story are just Arthur, Gwen and Merlin. It will probably be about 5 or 6 chapters in total. **

**And yeah I have a thing for injured Arthur. I put it down to me spending three years working in a military hospital as a nurse :) Also t****his story is loosely based on a story that I had written over a year ago. Not a fanfic story, just one of my own. Makes it easier for me to use parts from that story and not have to do a whole pile of research that I'd already done. Time is of the essence and something I don't have much of! **

******Carol :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews to date! I know I'm uploading a chapter just one day later! Amazing for me :) Well I was going to write the next scene before I did that, but I thought this chapter ended good enough on it's own. It means a quicker upload but a shorter chapter. But as this isn't going to be a really long story I thought it would be okay. **

**Enjoy!**

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_**CHAPTER TWO.**_

* * *

Arthur was feeling rattled the next morning. He had had a bad night sleep. Finding a comfortable position to sleep in wasn't easy. It was one of those wet, wild and windy nights. The sort of nights that would make him anxious. He'd tossed and turned, slipping from one nightmare into another.

Needless to say by the time morning came around he was in a mood. And it wasn't a good one.

He tried concentrating when Gwen talked about the latest client. But her words were going in one ear and out the other. He did notice, however, that her hair was down for a change. A pink headband held those curls at bay, curls that tumbled over her shoulders. Pretty hair. Then he found himself wishing she'd left it tied back in a bun. It was distracting him. Since when did she ever wear her hair loose?

She was sifting through some documents, and his eyes rested on her hands. Practical, fingers unadorned with any rings, nails kept short and pink nail polish. He frowned. Pink. He couldn't imagine her like something – so girly.

"Arthur, did you hear any of what I just said?" Her voice penetrated his thoughts.

His eyes met hers.

"Ah no, my head just isn't with it this morning," he muttered in reply.

"You look like you haven't slept.

Her eyes searched his face, making him feel self-conscious. He knew he looked like hell.

"You need to spend some time in the sun," she continued.

No. What he needed was to drink a bottle of Scotch, fall into a deep sleep and forget about life for a while.

"So what were you saying about the client," he asked, choosing to ignore her words.

She returned her attention to the documents spread out across his desk. Again her words went in one ear and out the other. Despite his best attempts at concentrating.

Sometimes, especially when he was tired like now, he'd forget how inadequate it was to do things with his right hand. He reached for the water jug without even thinking. It slipped out of his hand and water spilt all down the front of him.

He swore out loud. Gwen, looked up startled.

He felt his face redden in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

He was so bloody useless!

"I'll go get you a towel," she said and quickly left the office.

He sat there fuming. How the hell was he supposed to work when he couldn't even pour himself a glass of water? Or even think straight.

Coming back to work was a bad idea. He should have just told his father no!

Gwen returned with a towel and he couldn't even bring himself to look at her.

"You should take your jacket off," she suggested.

It was soaking wet now. But he didn't want to take if off. Have her see how slow he was at doing just that. He would have to though. He'd look really stupid if he didn't. Even more than he already did.

He managed to get his jacket off and thrust it at her. Then much to his shock, her hand rested on his arm, patting the sleeve.

"It feels dry," she spoke, "But the front of your shirt is wet."

Her simple touch felt nice. It pissed him off even more.

"You suggest I take that off too," he muttered darkly.

"Wouldn't have stopped you before," she quipped.

His eyes shot up to her face, startled. He saw the hint of amusement in her eyes. He gritted his teeth. She had some nerve. But now he thought about it he was being stupid about the whole thing.

"Yeah, well I had a body worth looking at - then."

Damn, he should just keep his mouth shut. He glanced up noticing the sadness in her eyes.

"You pity me too Gwen?"

She bit down on her lip and shook her head.

"No Arthur, you do that enough on your own."

He felt momentarily outraged. Who was she to tell him anything about pity?

"What would you know," he retorted.

She sighed. "More than you think," she murmured.

He found his curiosity suddenly aroused. What did she mean by that? He watched her hang his jacket on the back of her chair. Her face half hidden in shadows, but he saw doubt flicker in her eyes.

Sighing she slowly sat down on the edge of his desk. Hands clasped.

"You once said to me that a guy must have done a number on me and you were right."

His eyes rested on her downcast face. Her eyes were fixed to a spot on the floor.

"But not in the way you implied."

Why did he suddenly get the feeling it was going to be something bad?

"In my first year of college I was physically assaulted."

Because it was bad! He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Shit. He felt a swift sudden anger that anyone could harm her. Gwen was kind, sweet. A tad fiery but he liked that about her. The thought of anyone hurting her made him feel sick in the stomach.

"It happened on campus as I was walking back to my dormitory from the local tavern."

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He beat me up pretty badly, luckily someone came along before he …" her voice broke off there.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Before he had the chance to rape me."

He tightly gripped the sides of his wheel chair.

"Afterwards I was a wreck. Dropped my studies. I couldn't even leave the house."

Her pained eyes met his. "I felt it was my fault in a way. I was dressed too provocatively. I had asked for it."

"Gwen, no, why would you think that!" he exclaimed, feeling disturbed.

How dare anyone hurt her in such a way? It wasn't right.

She quickly lowered her eyes.

"Did he tell you that?" he continued aghast.

He didn't need a confirmation of yes. He could see the answer clearly written across her face. He felt a swift sudden anger. "The bastard," he muttered.

A slow hesitant smile tilted up the corners of her mouth at his choice of word. "It was a long time ago now."

Did that mean she was over it? He gazed into her sweet face. Wanting to ask, but also too afraid. It wasn't his place to ask. And since when had he ever thought she had a sweet face? Well actually he always had. Just that she wasn't his type. Least that is what he had kept telling himself. He had never looked at her more than anything but a friend. He had also known he wasn't her type either. She had often chided him about his arrogance, his vanity and lack of thoughtfulness. Hell she had even yelled at him that it was men like him that put her off them. Now he felt even more ashamed at what he'd said to her that day, given what she had just told him.

"Shit," he muttered through gritted teeth, slowly shaking his head, "I said all that thoughtless stuff to you."

He remembered the way she'd tore out of his office. Racing out of the office after her. Not even knowing why. Why did he care what she thought of him? She was just his secretary. Why should he care if he hurt her feelings; only that he did. When he found her, crying and sitting under the staircase she had reminded him of a sad, lost little girl. It wasn't right to see her this way and it was all his fault. He felt a stab of guilt and then shame. He had made enough women he'd dated cry when he broke up with them. It hadn't bothered him as much as it bothered him now. Seeing her so upset.

His father had taught him that women would only ever want him for his money and good looks. He might as well enjoy it. Love. Love only existed in fairy tales. _'Don't let them fool you into thinking otherwise son.'_ And he hadn't. Only sometimes it had left him feeling strangely hollow inside.

"You did apologise remember," she spoke breaking the silence.

Some consolation. He rubbed his forehead. "You must hate me?"

He didn't want her to hate him. Then berating himself. Why should he care if she did? It shouldn't matter to him. And he had no idea why?

She shook her head vehemently. "Of course I don't."

Slipping her hand into his she lightly squeezed his fingers. Her gaze soft and honest.

"I'm only telling you this Arthur because as bleak as things may look to you right now it won't always be like that."

And it was pretty bleak for him. He couldn't see it changing. But her words … they were soothing. He felt his fingers twitch in the warmth of her hand. Slowly his fingers curled around hers. He wanted to believe her. Found himself strangely drawn towards her.

She understood. Then he quickly withdrew his hand from hers. What the hell was he doing?

She didn't appear rebuffed. If anything she appeared a bit confused by her own actions. She leant back against the desk.

"I came to realise that it doesn't matter how we dress or look, what really matters is what's inside. People judge others so quickly. I vowed that I would wait till the day when a person could love me for me, not for what I own, what I have, or what I look like?"

Her words were so profound, startling him. She was so wise for someone her age. Again his curiosity was aroused.

"You found him yet?"

She smiled slowly and shook her head.

"I'm not in any hurry. Besides I like my independence. I don't need a man to hold my hand and tell me what to do."

He felt the hint of a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. It'd been so long since he had last smiled, the action was almost foreign to him now.

"No. I can see that."

His eyes rested on her face. A strange longing took hold. Love. What did it feel like?

"I don't think I've ever been in love." Hearing the wistful tone in his own voice, chiding himself for it.

She looked at him for a long silent moment in her thorough and direct way.

"You have to know what love is before you can find it."

Did she know what it was? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask. He swallowed instead. His eyes meeting with hers. They continued to look at each other. In her clear open gaze he didn't feel like such the invalid. There was no pity, just a shared understanding.

"But you got better?" he asked.

He had to know.

"The bruises faded and went away, the emotionally scarring takes longer."

He had never met anyone like her before.

"How long?"

Judging by the shadows in her eyes, long enough. In some ways what had happened to her was worse than what had happened to him. She had been hurt by another person. That … that would shatter your trust and faith in people.

And yes, his injuries were bad enough, but they were not caused by someone else. It had been an accident. For a moment this sudden comprehension startled him.

"Why didn't you tell me this before …" Because he really had been a jerk he slowly realized.

"You wouldn't have listened or understood. And well it's kind of personal and not easy to talk about."

He looked at her wordlessly.

"But now," she continued softly, "You understand Arthur."

He nodded. "Pride goes before a fall and I've fallen spectacularly." There was a bitter edge to his voice. He couldn't really mask it. He understood and all, but that didn't make it, presently, any easier.

He couldn't walk. His body was badly scarred. He had no idea who he was. Or if there even was anything good inside of him? How did he draw the sort of strength she had when he felt so hollow inside? But he was starting to come to an awareness that he wasn't alone.

"It took a year before I could bring myself to leave the house."

Her words shook him. A whole year. It had been a long time since he had felt this; sympathy for another person.

"You really are something else Gwen, something special," he murmured.

Surprise flickered in her eyes. She almost appeared embarrassed by the compliment. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. As if his words mattered. For all intents and purposes she should really dislike him. But she didn't. And he was oddly glad about that.

"I have loving, patient parents, which helped."

Gwen was surprised they were even talking like this. That warmth, she had glimpsed before, wasn't lost. When she looked into his eyes she felt a connection with him. It had taken a lot for her to tell him what had happened to her all those years ago. She had been hesitant. But now she could see she had done the right thing. It still made her feel vulnerable, but she saw the same vulnerability reflected in his eyes. They had both opened up to each other in a way that was foreign to him. Even herself, if she were truthful. It had taken her a long time to ever trust a man again. And she certainly never would have trusted him before. But Arthur was now a broken man. It somehow changed everything.

He had looked so pale this morning. Dark rings under his eyes. That same bleakness. She longed to hold him and tell him it would be alright. Knowing he would somehow hate that.

She wasn't about to indulge his self-pity either. Nothing good ever come of it. And she would know.

What he needed was open honest communication. To realise he wasn't alone and neither did he have to remain suffering in silence. It would take time but she saw something in his eyes that gave her a glimmer of hope. She could tell that what had happened to her disturbed him. She could also see that he was curious about her. That beneath it all he truly did care. His concern had been touching. His compliment had shocked her.

Vain, insensitive Arthur Pendragon did have a heart.

Now all she had to do was not fall in love with him.

Or maybe it was already too late for that.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading. Love to know what people think. What they liked the most about this chapter. Don't worry, next chapter will be Martin and Arthur's first meeting. This story is really very much about finding the true meaning of life, love and friendship.**

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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews to date! As for the guest reviewer, your review was wonderful and made me very very happy. Thankyou.**

**My workload is still full on. Hence me not writing much. But that will ease up in about another week and leave me a bit more free time to write. Which means I will then get back to my other story.**

**That said. Enjoy!**

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_**Chapter Three.**_

* * *

He had always been different. The odd eccentric kid. Dwelling on the periphery. Trying to fit in. His mother had referred to him as a wizened old man trapped in a child's body. She'd tenderly ruffle his hair and tell him he was special. Without her he would have been lost. The amount of times he'd come home from school, with some bruise, the word _freak_ echoing in his ears.

She would tend to his scraps, wipe his tear streaked face; hold him. '_Ignore them. You are much more than them_.'

But he'd see the concern in her eyes. And he would be put into another school. _Maybe this one would be better. _

Getting lost in a fantasy world of reading books was his escapism. His happy place. And study. Countless hours of study that eventually paid off. He was accepted into a school for gifted and talented students. Realised he wasn't the only different kid out there and made friends.

But he had something that did set him apart from everyone.

His mother had told him it was a gift.

Martin saw it as a curse.

He really didn't have a name for what he possessed, an ability to move objects. It was instinctive.

His mother told him from a young age that he must never disclose his secret; to anyone!

His own father, who he could barely remember, had told him the gift was passed down from father to son. He recalled the warmth in his eyes. Clung to the scattered distant memories. His father had died in a work related accident when he was five. His mother had struggled to make ends meet entering into a hasty marriage with a man Martin learned to hate. Often in a drunken rage his step-father would become violent, beating up on his mother and even him.

His mother divorced him but that hadn't stopped him from terrorizing them. For so many years they had lived in fear.

It left him with acute anxiety.

But then the ex-step father found another woman. Left them alone. He had been 13. That was nine years ago. He and his mother had lived an uneventful peaceful life since.

With therapy Martin recovered from the anxiety. The experience had given him an ability to be unusually compassionate. He had a burning desire in his heart to help others like him. Now knowing that to truly understand what it's like to go to _hell and back_ he had to have experienced if for himself. And with age he had grown comfortable enough with who and what he was. Found a niche in life. An occupation that gave him a sense of self satisfaction. Putting the darkness of his past behind him.

As for his so called gift. Martin had control over it. There was only ever the odd occasion, when strong emotion would get the better of him that he'd slip up. In a moment of rage, he'd feel the energy surge though him wanting to be released. And he would let it. School bullies, mysteriously being flung against the lockers. _His eyes turned gold, I saw it_ the bullies would sometimes stutter. Of course the teachers never believed them. Who would?

He had often done the same to his step-father. But luckily for him he was too drunk to remember it the next morning.

So his so called gift had remained a secret. There was only one other person besides his mother who knew about it. She would never tell a soul. He could trust her with his life. He had saved hers. From a fate no woman deserved.

"I had that dream again last night," he told his mother over breakfast that morning.

His mother was washing dishes in the sink. He still lived at home. Couldn't see any reason for leaving. And he didn't want her to be left alone. Just in case. He needed to be there for her.

"I'm standing at a lake," he continued, placing a spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

In the dream he knew the place and well. But he didn't in real life. Strange how dreams went like that.

He swallowed. "It's peaceful but sad."

As if he'd lost something there. Something that meant everything to him.

"It's so real too. Like I'm not even dreaming."

He's standing at the shore sobbing. Not even knowing why. His heart felt as if it had been ripped into a thousand pieces.

"It's like I'm waiting for someone to return," he murmured softly.

"It's just a dream Martin," his mother replied.

"Yeah. I know," he sighed.

He always had had the most unusual dreams. Sometimes he felt as if he'd lived life many times over. But he kept those thoughts to himself.

Right now his thoughts were taken up with Arthur Pendragon. And the contents of his file. Arthur, it would seem, was difficult.

_Arthur refused to do any therapy today._

_Arthur was still in bed. Informed me he would be staying there. _

_Arthur told me to piss off today. It's been a week and nothing has been accomplished. _

_This week got off to a better start. He attempted the parallel bars. He his capable enough to stand up and hold his own weight. However, he has trouble moving his legs. This appears to anger him and he gives up easily. _

_It was back to square one today; Arthur refusing to do anything._

Martin inwardly sighed. He'd had patients like Arthur before. The biggest battle always being the mind more than anything.

* * *

Rehabilitation, Arthur hated it. It always left him feeling useless, reminding him of just how incapable he now was. The humiliation was hard to swallow. When he looked at his reflection in the mirror he no longer knew the person gazing back at him. It was his face. Same shape. Same eyes. But it wasn't him. He was a stranger to himself. He wasn't cocky or confident or any of those things he used to be.

Who was he? Who was he really? He had no idea and it left an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was lost. Until this morning. Gwen came to mind. Again. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. And the conversation they had exchanged at work. It had made him feel strangely connected to her. He couldn't really recall if he had felt anything like this before?

Though that connection had been somewhat shattered when his father walked into his office and asked Gwen to drive him home. Was he bloody serious! What if he freaked out in the car? Then he remembered her words 'it was a year before I could leave the house.'

Well if he did freak out she would at least understand it. He hoped he didn't. And he managed to keep it under control. But despising himself for having to ask her to drive slowly.

There really was no dignity left after having a spinal injury and he had gotten used to that these last eight months. Still he hadn't wanted her to see him struggle to do something as simple as getting in and out of a car. His so called male pride, what was left of it, was reduced even further.

* * *

The occupational therapist was late. When he did show up he came bursting into the dining room looking somewhat flustered. Arthur's eyes raked over him, a frown dented his forehead. What the hell? This was the occupational therapist? This skinny gangly young man that barely looked passed his teens? Who had they sent him now? Maybe he'd already been through all the good OT's and they were scrapping the bottom of the barrel.

"Sorry I'm late," he spoke, crossing the floor, dumping a pile of books and folders on the table.

"I'm Martin by the way," he continued holding out a hand to shake his.

Arthur scowled at the out stretched hand, choosing to ignore it.

"I take it you have a good excuse."

The young man, Martin, appeared momentarily startled before rubbing his chin.

"Always an excuse whether or not it's a good one I don't know. Probably not. I suck at excuses."

Arthur really didn't know what to make of that response. He glanced up at this so called Martin. Noticed the hint of amusement in his eyes.

Oh so he had a sense of humour. Good, he was going to need it, Arthur silently fumed. He really did look young. Short dark hair, wide blue eyes and pale complexion. But his eyes … they … he couldn't put his finger on it.

"How old are you?"

"22."

"So you're fresh out of College?"

"No, I've been doing this for a year. I'm just exceptionally bright." He smiled. "I graduated within three years instead of four."

Okay so he was smart that didn't make him any good. And there was no way he could see him lasting. Arthur had his fair share of pushy OT's too, giving him some long winded lecture of how there were worst people out there than him, and if he started believing in himself strongly enough then he'd be able to make progress. On and on they went. He'd just tune them out. This one, however, didn't appear the lecturing type. His eyes raked over his gangly frame.

"How is someone as skinny as you going to support my weight?"

"I'm stronger than I look." Then he grinned. "I've lifted loads of patients heavier than you."

Was he inferring that he was heavy now? For reasons that Arthur couldn't grasp he found himself becoming annoyed. He wasn't fat. Okay, well maybe a little. He blamed the drugs for that. Plus it's not like he could do any exercise either. The days had been so long and boring. There was nothing else to do but eat. And what had it mattered? Not like woman would be lining up to date him anytime soon.

"I once had this patient that was 6'6," Martin continued, "He was a football player, quarter back, built like a sumo wrestler but with muscles instead. Because you know muscle weighs more than fat. Now he was heavy."

Arthur watched Martin prattle on. Feeling his frustration grow. Did he never shut up?

"You're definitely not that heavy," the young man continued, "but you probably could do with losing some weight."

His eyes narrowed at the forward young man. "Excuse me?"

"When you go from being physically active to bed ridden you can't continue to eat like you once used to, you have to adjust your diet accordingly. Eat less carbs and more lean protein with vegetables."

"Oh so you're a dietician too," he remarked dryly.

Martin smiled amused. Arthur was beginning to become more disgruntled by the minute.

"Drinking alcohol is also bad for weight gain," Martin added.

So that was in his notes too. Damn. And now was the time to tell him to piss off. But Martin startled prattling again and he couldn't get a word in edgewise. He'd even pulled up a chair, sat down on it and continued to talk. Oblivious to the fact that he wasn't even joining in on the conversation. Arthur glared at him. Didn't the idiot get the hint he wasn't interested in this stupid conversation?

But every time it was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to go something stopped him. There was a certain type of enthusiasm about the young man. Maybe he would give him at least half a chance. Doubting he would last the week.

And finally Martin paused for breath. He could get a word in. "You've probably read my file by now. Already know how difficult I can be."

The young man just nodded. "Yeah you have a fondness for your bed."

Arthur gritted his teeth at the young man's easy smile. But instead of feeling outraged, like he normally would, he was gobsmacked. Because, Martin, really wasn't like any other OT he had had before. He was … direct. Not that was different. It was just that he was also kind of mischievous in his directness.

"According to the notes in your file I think with some hard work on your part you can get more movement in your legs than you currently have," he said, all business like now. "It's up to you."

Up to him and that was the problem. There were days he didn't want to do anything. But also a part of him didn't want to hope. Because what if he couldn't walk again? What if after all the effort none of it paid off?

"And even if you don't get back full movement of your legs again you can still live an independent life, drive a car, work and have a life."

Yes, he could work, was back at work but driving a car? Having a life. A normal life. Yeah as if!

"You want to build up as much muscle density in your legs as you can," he told him "and you definitely don't want to end up with muscle atrophy."

Of course there was already some loss of muscle mass after eight months and his refusal to do anything hadn't helped with that.

And to think he used to be the fastest runner in school, he inwardly muttered, glaring down at his useless legs.

* * *

He had planned on being difficult, refuse to co-operate. The usual for him. But, Martin, it would seem, didn't understand the concept of the word, no. Whereas the other OT's would give up and leave him to his own devises. Martin would just talk. Non-stop too. Driving Arthur batty.

"If I agree to do the parallel bars would that shut you up?!" he eventually snapped.

Martin, merely smiled and nodded. "Maybe."

"Are you always this annoying?"

"Just part of the charm," he grinned.

Those words made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _Just part of the charm … _a face flashed before his eyes. Too quick for him to grasp. He shook his head.

* * *

Of course he lost it when attempting the bars. He really wasn't even in the mood for this to begin with. Martin, to his surprise, didn't batter an eyelid when he'd let out a string of swear words that would probably make his mother faint. If she were still alive.

He just, patiently and calmly, encouraged him to push himself harder. And he didn't even know why the hell he was listening to him? Just, that his voice was strangely compelling.

He could stand up holding onto those bars but trying to get his legs to move. Martin helped move his legs for him. He could put some pressure on his legs but it was hard work, holding his own body weight through his arms. Gripping the bars tightly till his hands ached, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He was just glad to get to the other end and back in his wheel chair.

"It'll get easier," Martin softly spoke.

He leaned his head back, wearily. "Of course," he said under his breath, with sarcasm.

"You just have to persist," he continued, "rehabilitation is never easy."

"And you would know about that," he snapped.

Arthur expected some witty retort because Martin was quick with them. That should piss him off too, but he actually kind of found himself liking it. But when he glanced at the young man, he didn't miss seeing the sudden shadows in his eyes. There was pain there, a very deep pain. But then Martin smiled in that easy way of his and Arthur wondered if he'd imagined it. Probably had. But there was certainly something different about Martin. By the end of the week he even found himself oddly liking him. It's almost like he had always known him.

Arthur hadn't made the week easy for him either. But much of what he said in cutting remarks was like water of a ducks back to the young man. He was resilient, that was for sure. He hadn't expected that. And he was persistent. Sometimes even insolent.

"You know you're the worse OT I've ever had."

Martin would merely grin in that irritating way of his. As if knowing that he hadn't meant what he said. And he hadn't meant it. He just felt like goading him from time to time. The truth of the matter was that Martin really was the best OT he'd ever had. The young man had a way of getting around him and making him co-operate. Even when he yelled and ranted at him out of frustration of his inability to walk, he wouldn't batter an eyelid. He would just stand there quietly until he was finished. Arthur would sit in his chair feeling better after his tirade. Martin, as if sensing he was alright now would move him onto the next task.

Martin kept him focused. Kept him busy. Had him doing other exercises, the rowing machine and non-bearing weights.

By the time nightfall came around Arthur would be so exhausted he'd fall straight into a deep sleep without the aid of alcohol. Every muscle in his body ached but it was a good feeling.

* * *

_He was at the lake. Swimming to the surface. His head emerged from the water and he shook his hair back from his face. The air was so still that there wasn't even a single ripple on the lake. It was quiet. _

_Something had changed. Arthur could feel it. There was no sense of sadness. As if the imbalance had been restored. His bare feet touched the muddy soil. He pushed his hair back, out of his eyes._

_A thick mist was all around him. His eyes drifted to the shore. A figure began to emerge from the fog._

_Sudden hope leaped into his heart. He had waited for him. Merlin._

_He began, in eager haste, walking towards the shore._

_Merlin. It had to be. _

_Soon he would see his face again. It had been a long time. So long he could barely recall his features. The mist swirled around the lone figure, standing on the shore. The water was now at his waist. Merlin, he called. Merlin!_

The sudden jarring of his alarm made the dream quickly retreat before him.

_No, no. He was so close. He was …._

Arthur's eyes sprung open. He blinked. Groaned. Shut his eyes. Ran a hand through his tangled hair. Shit. He was just about to see him. A frustration he couldn't explain took hold.

Just who the hell was Merlin anyway?

He let out a bitter laugh. Which came out more of a half sob.

And just what was with the lake? Why did he keep dreaming of it?

"Arthur!" His father yelled from outside his room. "We have to leave for work in an hour."

He dragged himself into a sitting position. The last vestiges of the dream lingering in the back of his mind began to fade.

It was another day. Another week. But when he pulled his legs over the side of the bed till his feet touched the ground he felt kind of different. Better. It was still bad, just … not as bad.

Though times like this he wished he could just walk from his bedroom to the bathroom and shower like any other normal person. But no. He had to get himself in the wheel chair, wheel himself to the bathroom. Get himself from the chair to the special designed shower chair. Then after he had his shower dry himself off, get dressed, get back into the wheel chair.

He stared resolutely at his reflection in the mirror. So many little things were taken for granted. Everything was a monumental effort!

He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. He needed to shave.

Thoughts of Gwen drifted to mind. He wanted to look half decent for her. Then berating himself for thinking like that. Since when did her opinion matter? Damn it. He was a bloody invalid. She was never going to look twice at him. He scowled at his reflection. And since when did he start wanting her too?

Only that, of late, he had noticed every tiny single detail about her. The scent of her hair shampoo. Her pretty eye lashes. Her calm demeanour. Her smile, the curve of his lips. He would find himself wanting to touch her hair, and wrap one of those curls around his finger. And shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

There would be no more women for him. He had been telling himself this ever since his accident. What woman would ever want him like this? He was only suddenly interested in Gwen because she had shared part of her past with him. That's all it was.

He chose to ignore the way his heart quickened when she walked into his office in the mornings. How much her lovely smiling face began to mean far too much to him. The strange, unfamiliar emotions coursing through him where so alien. He couldn't remember feeling this way before? He yearned for it and yet; it also terrified him. This need. This longing. The wanting to mean something more to someone else. More than he could ever really give.

Gwen. She deserved someone special. Someone whole. Someone who could love. Someone that was totally not him.

It still didn't stop the strange longing that had taken hold of his heart. Truth was he liked being in her company.

In these last couple of weeks his life had had some meaning to it again. He no longer felt so lethargic. Or uninterested in what was happening around him.

He worked from nine to one. Martin did his therapy sessions from two to five. His days were busy. He was interacting with people again. And it felt kind of good.

For the first time since the accident his life had purpose.

He even, dare he say it, looked forward to this therapy sessions with Martin. The young man was full of enthusiasm and life. It was kind of contagious. As much as he totally pissed him off at times Arthur had to admit that since the gangly kid walked into his dining room, looking anything but an OT, he'd been strangely drawn towards him.

It was odd.

Martin.

Gwen.

They meant something to him. And he had no idea why? Only they added something more to his pitiful existence.

It was like a slow awakening had taken hold.

He didn't have to be so alone. And he wasn't. Least not anymore.

Maybe it would even be okay. Just maybe he could have a life once again.

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**A/N: Please leave a review. Love to know what people think. I know these chapters are shorter but I have so little time currently! **

**There will probably only be about another two chapters to this story. And I do promise to continue with the other one when my work load eases up :)**

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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry this has taken so long! I've been really really busy. Far busier than I would like. The many numerous interruptions I've had of late when attempting to write makes me think this chapter is a little disjointed as a result and not as good as I would have liked. It's hard to get the writing flow happening when you only have small chunks of time. But that is my reality at present. It will, however, get better when my workload eases up. Which is soon! **

**Thanks for the many wonderful reviews to date and the guest reviews too. I've had some really good ones and they always make my day.**

**That said. Enjoy!**

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_**Chapter Four.**_

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Arthur smiled when she walked into his office that morning. He actually smiled at her. For a moment Gwen was gobsmacked. Then she could feel the corners of her own mouth turn up in an answering smile. Sudden warmth suffixed her face.

Oh god. Don't blush she silently chided. She walked over to his desk. Ignoring the traitorous beating of her heart.

"Hello Arthur," she said casually.

"Gwen."

She put his coffee on the desk. Sat down on a chair opposite to him.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Her eyes met his. Then she noticed his hair.

"You had a haircut?"

He shrugged as if it was nothing. "Figured it was about time."

"I can see your face now."

A hint of colour reddened his cheeks. Least she wasn't the only one blushing this morning. It wasn't cut in the usual stylish trend. Still on the longish side and she was oddly glad about that.

"Didn't go to Atherton Cox I see," she quipped.

A smiled hovered on his lips. "No, just the local barber on the street corner."

"That's different for you."

"Hmm, considerably cheaper too."

"Not that you have to worry about it."

"True."

"Guess the clientele is somewhat different."

"And the hair dresser. I had some old codger. He never stopped talking. He even talks more than my OT and I really didn't think it possible anyone could talk more than him."

This banter. It was almost like old times minus Arthur's big fat ego. Which made it even better. Arthur, although slowly, was starting to come out of his shell. Gwen had noticed this over the last week or so. Something had changed.

She wasn't complaining. But maybe she should be. Because Arthur really was more likeable than ever. She was beginning to become painfully aware of his closeness. Fervently wishing she didn't. What was it about him? Because although he was good looking, even if he no longer thought he was, good looking guys were really a dime a dozen. She'd barely paid any of them scant attention. And, okay, he was handicapped somewhat, which made him feel useless and had seriously dented his so called manly pride. Making him vulnerable. Making him even more … likeable, she guessed. But other than that she had to ask herself, really, what was so different about Arthur? Why … oh why did she find herself drawn towards him? It wasn't fair. The gods certainly didn't play fair either. Even if he were to start noticing women again it certainly wouldn't be her.

She wasn't his type.

He wasn't her type.

What hope did she, they, ever chance in ending up with each other? It still didn't stop her liking him; unfortunately.

It was those thoughts that kind of made her feel skittish that morning, clumsy. She accidentally knocked over his glass. Luckily it was empty. But it still broke.

"Oh shit. Sorry," she gasped.

Picking up the broken fragments of glass she wasn't really paying enough attention. Before she knew it the sharp jagged edges of a piece of glass nicked her finger. Blood spurted out.

"Gwen," he exclaimed.

Quick to act, he yanked a couple of tissues from the tissue box. Taking hold of her hand, he pressed the tissues against her bleeding finger.

"It's alright," she began in a shaky voice, "just a little cut."

His touch was unnerving her. The warmth of his fingers against her hand.

"I think I might have a Band-Aid in the side drawer."

Removing his left hand from her finger he opened the drawer. His right hand now firmly pressing the tissue to her cut finger. And really she was capable enough to do that herself. But at the same time Arthur rarely used that hand for anything. His injured hand that he always seemed too self-conscious off. She was surprised, touched.

He triumphantly pulled a Band-Aid out from the drawer with his good hand. He tore the edge of the paper away with his teeth, giving her a sheepish look. "Probably not terribly hygienic."

She just watched, amazed, at how deftly he was able to put that Band-Aid on her finger one handed.

"There, all better now," he smiled.

Her eyes met his. And it was official. She was totally and completely in love with Arthur Pendragon. The warmth in his beautiful eyes and smile. It made her toes curl. Damn.

He was still gazing into her eyes. Unable to look away. Then his eyes rested on her lips. He fought the wild sudden urge to brush his thumb across them. Kissable. He could so easily kiss her … and shit. No. What the hell?

Then he realized he still had hold of her hand. He abruptly let it go. Quickly averted his gaze.

He picked up the papers on the desk. "Right, then, where were we?"

Ignoring the sudden rapid beat of his heart. He shouldn't be feeling this. He shouldn't be feeling anything anymore!

If she was affronted by his sudden indifference she didn't show it. Probably was relieved. Because who would want some cripple, not even really a man anymore, showing sudden interest?

It was back to business. As if the brief tender moment had never happened. He could ignore it.

* * *

During the board meeting that morning, Arthur, every once in a while would find his eyes straying Gwen's way. Watched as she typed up the minutes. The way she would absently tuck a stray curl that would fall across her face behind her ear. Once, she looked up from her laptop and straight at him. He quickly averted his eyes. Returned his attention to the matter being discussed and give his two bits worth. For what it was now worth.

Although he was probably a lot more astute than he'd previously been. Back then he was often impatient, over looked or dismissed important small details because there were better things to do. Like business lunches. Using his charm to impress and win over the client. Especially if they were an attractive woman, but now he gave more careful contemplation to the smaller details. Leaving the, impressing clients, to Gwen. She was good at it. Her calm and professional but friendly manner an asset to her. The clients responded positively. He did the research, drafted the plans. She did the talking.

His father owned a company in Construction and Development. Thirty years ago it had been a small fledging company but it had grown dramatically. By the time Arthur was five years old his father's company had become one of the top ten within the UK. Making his father a multi-millionaire. At around that time his mother had died from an aggressive form of breast cancer. His father buried himself in his work. Arthur had been left to his own devices. Sent to the most elusive all boy's school in London. Privileged, given whatever he wanted and use to having his own way. When he was younger he'd often felt lonely. Wishing for a real friend. He had sorely missed his mother. But as time passed what memories he had left of her faded away. He had only his father's influence. His father's advice. _You must always safeguard your heart Arthur. People will only ever use you because of who you are, my son. Women will only see you for your wealth as will the friends you make._

By the time he reached 15 he had become acutely aware that his father spoke the truth. He had a lot of so called friends. But they were only the type of friends that associated with him because of what he was; wealthy, important, excelling at sports and popular. It never did have anything to do with who he was. Who he really was deep inside. He could happily ignore the empty hollowness of his life then. But now it had all changed. The accident had seen to that.

He had no bloody idea of who he was inside either. How could he? It had never developed to begin with. But there had to be something there. If he looked hard enough.

"You have any hobbies?" Martin had asked the other week.

_"Hobbies?"_

_"Yeah, things you like to do outside of work and socialising."_

_He was on the rowing machine at the time, had to think long and hard about that one._

_"You mean like knitting," he'd remarked dryly._

_Martin just grinned and nodded. "If that catches your fancy."_

_Arthur had snorted. "What's your hobby Martin?"_

_"Reading."_

_He glanced up at him, frowning. He looked the type. Probably one of those nerdy kids. He used to poke fun at them in school. Generally egged on by his friends._

_"What about when you were a kid," Martin continued, "You must have had a hobby then?"_

_He had had everything to entertain him. The latest coolest X-Box games, Sony PlayStation, biggest television, home theatres. He hadn't had to entertain himself._

_"Like any kid I played video games. Didn't you?"_

_Martin shook his head. "No, not really, just me and my mum. She struggled to support the both of us. We never had a lot of money."_

_For reasons Arthur still couldn't fathom he'd find himself curious about the young man._

_"You didn't have a father?" he asked._

_There was a brief flicker of pain in his eyes. But Martin was always quick to hide it._

_"He died when I was five years old."_

_"That's like me. My mother died when I was five."_

_They had something in common. That thought startled Arthur for a moment. They had both lost a parent._

_"Do you remember him?"_

_"A little."_

_Again, Arthur would found himself drawn towards the young man. Martin really was different to anyone he'd met before._

_"What about you?" he asked._

_"She used to tuck me into bed, read me a bed time story," he spoke, a wistful note in his voice as the memories took hold._

_He couldn't even remember the last time he talked about her to anyone._

_"I miss her." Had he just spoken that out loud? Damn._

_But it was true. The amount of times he had found himself longing for his mother's love and affection after the accident. She would have made it better for him. Comforted him at least._

_"She was kind, caring."_

_His breath caught in his throat. Emotion. No. Not going there. He returned his attention to the rowing machine. Determined to push himself harder._

_"You still have any video games?" Martin asked at length._

_"Yeah. Why?"_

_"When we've finished up here we should go play some," he suggested._

_Arthur looked up at him stunned. Really? Well hell, why not. Not as if his calendar was full with things to do. Not as if he had a social life anymore._

_"Okay."_

_He decided on Mine Craft. Couldn't see Martin getting into some violent video game. And Martin was pretty useless at it._

_The amount of times he had to rescue him! Soon as Martin saw a Zombie or Creeper he'd start running. Arthur would merely kill them with his sword._

_He was frustrating to play with too._

_"You have to kill the sheep," he'd instruct._

_"I don't like killing things."_

_"We need wool to make beds."_

_He was going to tear his hair out at this rate._

_"Okay I'll go kill some sheep and pigs. You chop down the trees."_

_"Can't we just make the house out of sand and dirt?"_

_"Martin!"_

_"Okay, okay, I'll chop down trees," he'd sighed._

_It got even worse when they went mining._

_"Martin don't go down there … Martin that is lava! Don't touch it! Look out … you'll fall …"_

_Too late._

_"I'm dead again aren't I." Martin would mutter._

_He turned his head sideways to look at him. "Yes Martin."_

_Arthur didn't know why he persisted. Only it was kind of strangely therapeutic. And as annoying as Martin was he liked having him there. It felt right somehow. He didn't feel so lonely._

_In fact they had since fallen into the routine of playing Mine Craft every day after his therapy sessions._

_Martin, he had come to the slow conclusion, was like the friend he never had. The friend he'd always wanted as a young boy. And the last person he thought he'd ever make friends with._

* * *

Gwen was acutely aware of Arthur gazing her way every now and again. His thoughtful contemplation of her. What she couldn't understand was why? After he'd put the Band Aid on her finger earlier, gazed into her eyes for what had seemed like an eternity, he'd abruptly let go of her hand. She had felt miffed for a moment. But she quickly covered it up. If he wanted to get back to business then so be it. He was obviously embarrassed. An awkwardness developed between them.

She distracted herself by removing the broken glass and putting it in the bin. She didn't want to cut another finger. Or maybe she did if it meant getting his attention. Then she cursed herself for even thinking that way.

He was looking her way again. She would ignore it. Like he pretended to ignore her. And why was he looking at her? What was he thinking? She could almost swear that he liked her. Well she kind of already knew that. But this … this was different. And she couldn't figure it out. Arthur could not be interested in her. She was not his type after all. It would be for the best that she continued to remind herself of that fact.

* * *

Gwen chatted away about everyday stuff as she drove him home. He was beginning to relax a little more in the car. Not like the first time she had driven him home. He'd sat glued to the seat, a terrified look on his face. She had felt sorry for him. Drove carefully and slowly as possible. She talked a lot to put him at ease. He probably wasn't even listening to a word she had said.

The car braked suddenly in front of her, forcing her to slam on the brakes. They were both flung forward in their seats.

She quickly turned her head to look at Arthur. His face had significantly paled. His hands gripped the dash board in front of him.

"I'm sorry," she began.

She could tell his breathing was shallow and he was struggling for control.

"Arthur …" Her breath caught in her throat.

"Just pull over," he got out in a strangled voice. "Get me out of here."

Spying the botanical gardens to her right she pulled into the parking bay. Stopping the car she hastily climbed out and run to his passenger door. Not even bothering to get the wheelchair from the boot. Her concern taken up with getting him out.

She yanked his door open. Helped him lower his feet to the ground. Normally he didn't like any help at all. Would get shitty if she even suggested it. He obviously wasn't in his right mind currently because he didn't protest.

Gripping the side of the car with his left hand, she leaned forward, put an arm around him and helped him to his feet. He was trembling, uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry," she whispered feeling so bad for him. Knowing how it felt herself.

He shut his eyes and shook his head. "N-Not your fault."

He leaned back against the car. She still had hold of him. Worried about the pallor of his skin. The faint pink scars on his cheek standing out in stark contrast. His breathing was still shallow and rapid. His eyes screwed shut.

Oh Arthur. She longed to hold him but doubted she could support his weight for long.

"I didn't get your wheelchair," she gasped, having just realised.

"It's … okay, can hold my own weight for a bit."

She bit down on her lip. "You sure?"

He nodded. She let go of him. He slowly slumped to the ground. Sudden panic hit her.

"Arthur!" she began.

She quickly crouched down.

"I'm alright."

And he appeared to be. Physically that was. She could only imagine what he was going through mentally right now. Leaving him sitting on the ground, leaning against the car she went to get his wheelchair. When she returned he had pulled his legs up and was leaning his arms across his knees, head bent forward.

She longed to hold him. Hated seeing him suffer so. Instead she sat down on the ground alongside him and waited for him to speak.

* * *

It was like a fierce storm raging through his body. Locked in his worst nightmare. Images, so vivid and real. It felt like he was back there, re-living it.

It's not happening. It wasn't real. He was having a flashback. It would pass. Don't cry. Dammit. He could be stronger than this. Eventually the uncontrollable trembling would ease up. The storm would abate. Reasoning would return. He had been here enough times to now know how it worked.

'_Think of a happy place.' The shrink had once advised._

'_I don't have one,' he'd sarcastically returned._

'_Everyone has one Arthur.'_

The lake. But the lake wasn't happy. It was sad. However, it was peaceful there.

Had his life really been so meaningless that he couldn't even find a happy place? But it wasn't always that way. He had been happy once. Long ago. So long he couldn't even remember it. Just the lake. A name. The name of a faceless man. Merlin. _'I'm not going to lose you.'_

But it was lost. He was lost. Everything was gone. _'You're not saying goodbye.' _ Such determination in the voice. Mixed with anguish. He wanted to tell him something. Merlin. It was important.

Don't cry.

This wasn't the end.

He wanted to say _'thank you'._

'_Arthur.' A voice penetrated the painful fog in his head. 'Arthur.'_

It was a woman's voice. Sweet. Compelling. Pleading. He knew her. The feel of her fingers in his hair was soothing. He longed for the comfort she offered.

He reached out to her. She wove her arms around him. He pulled her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair. Her curls tickled his nose, lightly caressed and teased his face.

It felt so real.

A slow realization dawned.

This wasn't the lake. It wasn't the scene of his car accident either. He was … with Gwen.

His eyes sprung open. The sudden brightness of the sunlit world making him blink. He was holding Gwen. Not quite. She was holding him. They were sitting on the ground. Next to the car and shit.

Guilt. Shame. Sudden extreme embarrassment took hold as memories returned.

He'd had a flashback. And in front of her!

She pulled back. Her eyes met his. He saw compassion there and concern. He didn't deserve it.

"It's alright Arthur," she softly spoke.

He ran a hand over his face, finding it wet with tears. Oh god. She saw him in this state. He didn't want her to see him like this. Snivelling like some small school boy. Nothing more than an emotional wreck.

Raising a hand she touched his face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. Her touch was tender. It'd been so long since anyone had touched him like this. He should push her away. He didn't deserve it. But the flashback had left him feeling rattled and emotionally raw. He found himself longing for the comfort she offered.

His fingers caught in her hair. It was surprisingly soft for such curly hair. His eyes dropped to her lips. Before he was even aware of what he was doing, he lightly brushed a thumb across those lips of hers. She shivered. But she wasn't shivering because he repulsed her. If anything there was a longing in her eyes. She wanted him. As much as he wanted her.

No. He slowly lowered his hand. Not possible.

She was only doing this out of kindness. He wouldn't take advantage of it. He wouldn't burden her with someone like him. She deserved so much better. He had nothing to offer.

"I guess …" he began, his voice sounding husky.

He cleared his throat. "I should get back in the wheel chair before we attract too much attention."

She lowered her eyes, nodded. Her expression unreadable. Then she stood up. Held out a hand to him.

"I'll help you up."

She would have to. He really had nothing else to hold onto. His ego had been dented sorely enough as it were. What did it matter? He took hold of her hand. Between holding her hand and using his other hand to lever himself up against the car, he managed to get to his feet. But his legs felt weak from his emotional state of being. Normally he'd be able to lower himself into the wheel chair. But he had to entirely rely on her to help him. Much to his humiliation.

And this is why he wouldn't let anything further develop between them. He didn't even know if he'd ever walk again. Hell he didn't even know if he'd be able to have sex again! He'd be nothing more than a burden.

He felt so bloody useless.

"C'mon, let's go for a stroll through the gardens, wind down for a bit," she spoke, grabbing his wheel chair and pushing him along before he had the chance to protest.

The early evening breeze on his face, like a caress. But hardly soothing.

He was still rattled. Also exhausted. Ego smarting. Annoyed at himself for feeling this unwanted desire towards her.

"Who is Merlin?" she asked at length.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "What?"

"You murmured his name, several times over."

He did? Again. Why?

"I have no idea," he sighed.

No idea why he dreamt of the lake. The young man who waited for him there. Merlin. None of it made any sense.

"Since my accident I often dream of a place and this person I've never met or seen before," he paused for a moment, "It's like I know him. Always have."

'_I'm not going to lose you.' _

He shivered. "You probably think I'm crazy?"

"No," she said softly. "I sometimes think I've lived before."

Her words surprised him. "Why?"

His wheel chair come to a stop at a small cafeteria. He glanced up at her, curious. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You ever said something or had a conversation and think I've said this before?"

"I'm not sure?"

He hadn't given it much thought.

"So you believe in reincarnation?" he continued.

She shrugged. "I don't know."

He had scoffed at such notions once. His life was his own. He determined it, controlled it. But now … now he just wasn't sure of anything.

"I'll go get us an ice-cream," she offered. "You have any favourite flavours?"

"No. Just whatever you have."

He watched her walk into the cafeteria with mixed emotions. He really hadn't met anyone quite like her. Except for Martin. That thought roused something deep within. A myriad of emotions that he couldn't decipher.

Gwen returned with the ice-cream and handed one to him. There was a warm smile on her face. He felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Took the ice-cream from her. Trying to keep his distance was really hard; impossible actually. She certainly wasn't making it any easier for him.

He licked the ice-cream. It tasted good.

"Just don't tell my OT I'm eating ice-cream. He'll only give me a lecture about how bad it is for me."

She gave a low chuckle. "Sometimes you just have to indulge."

Yeah. He knew all about that.

She appeared to be enjoying the ice-cream as much as he was. Funny. Every other woman he'd been out with would have been too paranoid.

It was kind of nice being with a girl and not having her worry about her waist line for a change.

"I think I do that too much these days," he continued.

Then inwardly chiding himself. He didn't need to be so honest. But he felt comfortable around her. She had been to hell and back too. She understood.

"Well there are times you have to I guess and times you probably shouldn't," she replied.

His eyes rested on her face. "You've had times like that?

She nodded. "Yes."

Of course she would have. Then his thoughts returned to the drive home. The flashback and shit.

"I can't get back in the car," he muttered, feeling annoyed and ashamed with himself all over again.

Her face softened. "How far to your house from here?"

"Maybe two miles."

He could hardly expect her to push his wheelchair all that way. But Martin could. Besides Gwen needed to return to work. And he did but didn't want her gone. Damn bloody feelings.

"My OT session starts soon, I can probably get Martin to drive here and push me home."

Gwen turned to him abruptly, surprised. "Did you say Martin?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Tall, skinny?"

"Yes and he never stops talking."

She went quiet, a reflective look crossing her face.

"You know him?"

She nodded.

"How?"

She hesitated for a moment. His curiosity was well and truly aroused.

"He … he was the person that came to my rescue."

Arthur's eyes widened at her words. Martin. Rescued her? He was the person to find her and save her from what could have been a horrible fate. He swallowed. Just the thought of her suffering at some bastard's hands still bothered the hell out of him. It wasn't right. She didn't deserve to have that happen to her. Hell, no woman did.

And what if Martin hadn't seen it? What if he hadn't rescued her? That thought didn't even bearing thinking of.

'_Are you over it?' _ He wanted to ask but kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to ask.

"We've been friends ever since," she continued. "He's a very special person."

Yes. He was. So was she.

* * *

Martin had just pulled into Arthur's driveway when he received a call from Gwen.

"Hi, Gwen."

Only it wasn't Gwen.

"Arthur," he frowned.

What was Arthur doing using Gwen's phone? That was weird.

It didn't take long for Arthur to explain that Gwen was his secretary, and something about being at a park, not able to get back into the car. He would need to come and get him.

He sounded stressed. Not that that was unusual for Arthur but there was an urgent tone to his voice.

Arthur had obviously freaked out in the car. Which wasn't good. It meant he wouldn't be getting back in a car any time soon. And Arthur needed to work. It kept him focused. He needed to be kept busy. He had improved quite significantly over the last month as a result.

Arthur hadn't nearly been as difficult as Martin thought he would be. He just had this astute knowledge on how to get around him. Without even knowing how or why he did? It puzzled him. The feeling of familiarity when around him. It was the eyes. And the voice. His name.

Sometimes there was this weird strange sort of ache in his heart. He couldn't even begin to explain it. By the time a month had passed Martin had come to the conclusion that they could even be friends. Were in fact becoming friends. And as grumpy as Arthur was the physical exertion was having a positive effect on him as Martin knew it would.

Arthur couldn't afford to go backwards now. Not now he had come this far.

* * *

He pulled into the car park at the botanical gardens. Recognised Gwen's car. He climbed out of his own car just as Gwen was pushing Arthur's wheel chair into view. He jogged over to them. Gwen smiled brightly when she saw him.

"Martin!"

Letting go of Arthur's wheel chair he caught her in a warm embrace.

"I haven't seen you in months."

"Sorry been busy."

"You're always busy Martin," she gently chided.

Pulling back and gazing up at him with fondness.

He glanced at Arthur, who appeared to be watching on with interest.

"Alright Arthur?"

His face was a bit pale but other than that he seemed okay. Probably Gwen's presence. She was good at handling people freaking out.

He nodded. "Yeah."

* * *

Martin gave up trying to convince Arthur to get back into the car. Resigned himself to pushing his wheelchair back home. Guess that would have to be something they worked on next week.

"You two seem close," Arthur spoke, breaking the silence.

"We've known each other for years."

"And you're just friends with her?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Why did Arthur sound interested?

"You two never went out?"

"If you mean as boyfriend/girlfriend then no. It's not like that between us. It's just like … like I've always known her."

Arthur went silent. Kind of much like what he felt towards him too. Not that he was about to tell him that.

"She told me you were the one to rescue her the night of her attack," Arthur continued at length.

Gwen had told Arthur! "I'm surprised she told you about that," he murmured, still stunned, "She doesn't like talking about it."

It's possible she told him as a way to relate to him. Let Arthur know he wasn't alone. But even still Gwen didn't trust easily. For her to tell Arthur about the night of her attack was a big step for her.

Martin noticed the conflicting emotions cross his face. Was it possible he liked Gwen? How long had they known each other? He couldn't remember her talking about Arthur before.

"You were there Martin," Arthur murmured, "Was it bad?"

He was certainly curious about her. For a moment Martin didn't know what to say? It wasn't something he liked remembering either. He recalled the palpable rage he had felt. So intense that he couldn't control the energy within. Raising a hand he had sent the bastard flying through the air, rendering him unconscious.

She was a hysterical mess. He had tried to calm her down, called for an ambulance and the police.

"Martin?" Arthur prompted.

"Um … yeah. He hurt her pretty bad."

He wasn't about to give Arthur the details. That was up to Gwen.

"Did you know her before that night?" Arthur continued.

"Yeah sort of. We chatted occasionally. She was a year or so up from me."

"What was she like?"

"Friendly, helpful, like she still is now."

"So she's not changed then?"

In some things. And Arthur really was interested about her. If Gwen had told him about the night of her attack then it probably wouldn't hurt for them to discuss it a little now.

"She was a lot more confident before, outgoing," he said. "The bastard stole it. Took her years to get it back."

Martin noticed the raw, turbulent emotions flicker across Arthur's face. Did he care so much for her? Given his expression … yes. It was obvious. That thought startled him.

Gwen would probably kill him for being this frank. But it was also good for Arthur to realise he wasn't the only person to have suffered out there.

"She's never been with a man since," he continued.

He felt it imperative Arthur know that because if he did have feelings for Gwen then he needed to tread carefully with her. Then he noticed how tightly Arthur clenched the side of his wheel chair.

"You like her?" he asked.

"What's not to like about her. She's kind and thoughtful."

"I mean do you have feelings for her?"

Arthur went silent for so long that Martin didn't think he'd reply, which obviously meant he did have feelings for Gwen. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

"She definitely deserves better than me," he muttered at length.

Once Arthur snapped out of his self-pity that was, he dryly mused.

* * *

There was no point in doing any therapy today. Martin was exhausted after pushing Arthur's wheel chair so far. He could tell Arthur wasn't up for it either. Normally he was complaining about something, or snapping at him but he'd been quiet. Martin wasn't sure if that were a good thing or not?

"Maybe we should just play Mine Craft," he suggested as he helped him get comfortable on the sofa.

He really didn't want to leave him alone.

"Alright," Arthur sighed, not really appearing in the mood for it, but Martin could tell he also didn't want to be alone.

"There's some lemonade in the bar fridge why don't you go get us both a can," he instructed.

Martin walked towards the fridge. "What did your last servant die off," he quipped over his shoulder.

"In a vat of hot oil for insolence."

His hand froze, part way to opening the fridge door. _I have my own vat of hot oil I'll have you know._ Well that was weird. He shook his head to clear it. So the prat had a sense of humour underneath his 'I don't give a shit' exterior.

Of course he knew Arthur gave a shit about a lot of things even if he wouldn't admit to it. And Gwen was obviously someone he cared a lot about. Which wasn't surprisingly now he thought more about it.

When he turned back around to hand Arthur the can he noted the strange still look on his face.

"What is it?"

"I … just something Gwen had said to me today," he murmured.

"What did she say?" he enquired, curious.

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

* * *

Arthur really wasn't in the mood for playing Mind Craft, Martin could tell. He was just going through the motions. And he was quiet. Normally he was giving him a hard time about something he was doing wrong. Or saying stuff like_, 'man up Martin,'_ or _'jeez you're such a girl at times.'_

"I'm tired," Arthur yawned half an hour later.

"You lie there and sleep. I've a ton of a paperwork to do. I'll sit at the table. Keep watch."

"I don't need a baby sitter Martin," he snorted with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yeah you do," he grinned as he picked up Arthur's legs and swung them onto the sofa.

There was that strange look on his face again.

"Martin," he began, "You ever sometimes say something and think you've said that before?"

"Yeah, sometimes, why?"

"Just now it was like," Arthur paused for a moment, confusion in his eyes, "I dunno but like you helping me … it's not the first time."

Martin gave him a puzzled look. Funny, but he felt the same way.

"Maybe I was your servant in a former life," he lightly quipped.

'_If a need another servant in the next life …'_

Martin froze. What if he was? Those words … nah, they were just a thought. Nothing more.

Arthur managed a grin. Patted his arm.

"Can't see you being one. You're too bloody insolent. You wouldn't have lasted a day."

Martin smiled. "Yeah. I am. Doubt that'll ever change."

'_I don't want you to change.'_

His eyes wordlessly searched Arthur's face. Had he just said that? But Arthur's eyes were already beginning to drift shut from tiredness. Martin ran a hand up the back of his neck. He also must be more tired than he felt because this was turning out to be a really kind of odd evening. It left an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. His hands shook for reasons he couldn't grasp.

"Alright Arthur. You sleep. As you always do," he murmured, feeling a strange tenderness towards him. "Don't mind me. I'll keep watch."

"Shut up M … lin." Arthur mumbled in his sleep.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He slowly turned his head to look at him. What had he just called him? His heart started beating hard and fast. Nah. It was a figment of his over active imagination. It had to be.

"Arthur," he whispered urgently.

He lightly shook him, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Because Merlin didn't exist. He wasn't him. Merlin only existed in dreams. And only his dreams at that.

He wasn't Merlin.

He had never been Merlin.

There was no Merlin and there never had been.

.

.

.

* * *

.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews always loved and very much appreciated! Hopefully it wasn't too disjointed? Or too many errors? Though both are highly possible given my limited time of late! But I figured if I don't upload this chapter tonight you all could be possibly waiting several more days and it has already been nine days!**

**I should only have one more busy week and then my workload will begin to ease up. Thank god! Providing I don't burn out before then :)**

**.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you so much for all of the great reviews to date! Please keep them coming. They really do inspire us writers to keep going. **

**Just one thing I think I need to clarify due to a couple of reviews. Unlike my other story, Arthur doesn't dream of Merlin in the same way. In this story Arthur is dreaming only of a place, the lake, and a moment in time, his death. Merlin also dreams of this place and time as he was the only other person there. Which is why Arthur and Gwen don't dream of each other. I hope this makes sense? But all three do say things, words, on a subconscious level from the other life, though they don't remember that life. This will become more evident in this chapter. **

**Thanks for reading. Enjoy!**

**.**

**.**

* * *

_**Chapter Five.**_

* * *

Martin had expected Arthur to be difficult come the next therapy session Monday afternoon, and he was right. He was still in bed. He obviously hadn't gone into work that morning. Not surprising as he wouldn't get in the car. But he wasn't about to let him wallow in self-pity either. He simply marched into his bedroom.

Arthur shot him an irritated look. "Didn't the house maid tell you I wanted to be left alone today?"

Ignoring him, Martin walked across the floor to the window and flung the curtains apart. Bright sunlight came streaming into the room. He spun around to find Arthur blinking against the sudden brightness, a disgruntled look on his face.

"What the hell Martin …" he began, voice laced with annoyance.

Martin took in his bedraggled appearance, messy hair, rumpled clothes and packet of chips in his hands. He snatched the said packet of chips out of his hands.

"You've spent the whole weekend in bed eating?" he remarked.

Arthur glared at him, snatched the packet of chips back. "Not like there's anything else to do," he growled.

Martin spied the half empty bottle of bourbon on the bedside table. So it was back this now. Inwardly sighing he merely snatched the packet of chips out of Arthur's hands again. Much to Arthur's astonishment. He wasn't used to being told what to do. Martin had to admit he rather liked giving him orders too.

"Get your swimming trunks on."

Arthur blinked, confused.

He hid a smile.

"We're going swimming.

"Are you crazy?!" he exclaimed.

He shrugged. "It's a beautiful day, warm and sunny for a change. And you've got that humongous swimming pool out the back. It might as well get used."

He grinned widely at an unimpressed Arthur. "I'll give you ten minutes, and if you're not ready then I'll drag you out of bed. Oh and I'll tell Gwen all about it."

With that he waltzed out the door.

"Martin!" Arthur yelled after him.

It worked. As Martin knew it would. Though Arthur looked far from happy when he wheeled his chair into the living room. He glowered at him.

"You know I should have you sacked."

Martin threw a towel at Arthur. Which landed on his head. He angrily removed the towel from his face.

"I wouldn't though, I doubt there would be another OT willing to take you on. You have a reputation you know," he glibly returned and walked towards the patio door.

Arthur glared after Martin's retreating back. He really did have some nerve.

"You know I don't care if you tell Gwen," he yelled after him.

Though that was a complete lie. And Martin knew it, dammit. He pushed his wheel chair after him, silently fuming.

"Wouldn't that be a breach of trust, you know patient and carer confidentiality," he muttered.

"Probably," Martin returned over his shoulder. "But she's my friend, who just happens to work for you. That changes things."

And someone who Martin just happened to save. He wanted to remain mad at him, but it was getting harder to do. He was oddly glad Martin was here, and as usual didn't put up with his shit. Watching him pull his jacket off, his eyes wandered over his skinny frame.

"Don't you ever eat?" he remarked.

"Don't you ever stop eating," he returned with a quick smile.

He felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. No. Stop it. He wasn't going to let Martin get around him. Not today. He should wheel his chair straight back into the house. Martin can swim all he wanted. He wasn't going to be a part of it. He was going to be bloody difficult! He was going to be … water suddenly splashed all over him. He gasped.

Martin had jumped into the pool. And had he just splashed him?

"What the …" he spluttered.

Martin splashed him again, grinning. "C'mon Arthur. Stop sulking. The water is beautiful."

He wasn't sulking! Okay, well maybe he was. And the water did look nice. It was a really warm day. He couldn't even remember the last time he went swimming in the pool.

"Alright," he grumbled.

He wheeled his chair over to the handle rails, pulled himself up and lowered himself into the water, gasping. "It's bloody freezing!"

"Sorry, forgot to tell you about that," Martin said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Arthur glared at him, again.

"You'll warm up once you start swimming," he continued.

Swimming, could he still swim? There was only one way to find out. Clutching the sides of the pool, slowly treading the water with his legs. His body felt light, weightless, in the water. He pushed himself away from the side of the pool and attempted to swim. It was easier than he thought it would be. In fact it felt good.

He even managed to do a couple of laps. He should have done this sooner. It lifted his whole mood.

Then Martin wanted to play some game where one of them threw a rock into the pool. The first person to reach down and retrieve it was the winner.

"How am I going to do that?" he frowned at him.

"Practice. We'll start at the shallow end and gradually go deeper."

It was difficult at first. His legs not doing what he wanted them to do but he eventually found a method that worked. If he dived down, pushing with his feet against the side of the pool it would give him enough momentum to reach the bottom. He even managed to surprise Martin once, and reached the rock before him.

"Ha, look at that," he grinned, when they surfaced, brandishing the rock in front of Martin.

Martin smiled in that easy going way of his. "Any you didn't even want to get in the pool."

"Shut up Martin." He couldn't help but splash him. Revenge felt good.

Martin merely ducked out of the way as if sensing what he was about to do.

"Let's see how you go playing catch," he said.

"Catch?"

Before he could say anything more Martin had climbed out of the pool and returned with a ball. Martin was just like a big kid. It was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. They threw the ball across the pool to each other.

"C'mon Martin, can't you catch a ball?"

"How was a I supposed to get that," he returned indignantly.

Strangely enough, Arthur was actually having fun.

"Now try catching with your right hand," Martin instructed.

That would be right. For a moment he'd forgotten this was a therapy session after all. But Martin had a point. He did have to work at getting dexterity back in his right hand. He didn't have a problem catching the ball, just his fingers were slow to grasp it and the ball would fall out of his hand. But he found himself persisting with it. He was in a good mood for a change.

And he couldn't throw nearly as hard or as good with his right hand which meant Martin now caught all of his throws.

Arthur smiling, even laughing, it was as it should be. Any remnants of his earlier foul mood were completely gone. Martin hadn't really expected him to get in the water. Knowing it's just what he needed. Now he couldn't get him out.

"Alright Arthur, you probably shouldn't spend more than an hour in the pool."

"Why?" he frowned.

"Chlorinated water dries the skin out. Plus you don't want to get sunburnt."

"I'm wearing a long sleeve rashie," he protested.

Martin helped him out of the pool. Soon as he was out of the buoyancy of the water, he felt heavy and cumbersome again. The water afforded him a freedom of movement to his stiff limbs he hadn't had since the accident. If only he could stay in there.

"Two important things to remember after swimming," Martin began, "In a chlorinated pool. You must have a shower straight after and you should also apply a lubricant to your skin. Especially the scars."

Of course. He'd almost forgotten about that, for just a moment.

But now when he looked down at his right hand it really was hard to miss. The scarring. Considering it covered half of his body.

"You go shower and I'll start up Mine Craft."

* * *

"I had nightmares on the Friday night," Arthur mumbled, as they sat on the sofa, playing the usual game of Mine Craft. "After the whole car incident. It put me in a bad mood Saturday."

Arthur attempting to explain why he was being so difficult. Martin was oddly touched.

"Is that why you resorted to drinking again?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess."

Then he turned so suddenly to him on the sofa that Martin leaned back.

"You tell Gwen about that and I swear I'll kill you Martin." He waved a finger in his face.

"You trying to impress her."

"No," he snorted.

Martin didn't believe him. His face grew serious. "Now that would be breaking patient/carer confidentiality and not to mention friendship trust too."

He considered Arthur his friend. Though difficult as he was, Martin, had the strangest feeling that if it came to it Arthur would do anything for him. Though as to why he thought that, he had no idea? Just there was a connection. That then made him think of the Friday afternoon, what Arthur had mumbled when asleep.

"Did you know someone called Merlin?"

Arthur went still, turned his head slowly to look at him, his expression slightly guarded.

"No. Why?"

"Just, I thought I heard you mumble that name on Friday night when you fell asleep on the couch."

Arthur quickly returned his attention to the screen. "It's possible that I did."

Martin frowned. Waited for Arthur to say more but when he didn't he returned his own attention to the game. He wanted to put a few paintings of the austere castle walls.

"I dream of someone by that name," Arthur spoke at length.

Martin froze. His heart slowly began to pick up pace. _Arthur … no …Arthur. _His hand trembled slightly. It was nothing, he reassured himself. Just a coincidence was all. He wasn't Merlin. But Arthur, was Arthur. It was a common enough name though.

"Why you dream of Merlin too?" Arthur asked dryly.

He shook his head. "No … well sort off. It's kind of weird."

And best he dropped the subject now. That was what had led to him being teased as a kid, talking about his strange dreams to other kids.

"C'mon, you have to tell me more," Arthur nudged him. "You can't leave me second guessing."

Martin sighed. Sorry he'd brought it up now. Arthur was probably going to think he was crazy. He glanced at him.

"I don't dream of him as such … but … like I am him."

His eyes widened in surprise. "You're right Martin that is weird."

Yep, Arthur now thought him bonkers. "But of course I'm not him! I'm Martin," he hurriedly added.

"Of course you're not." He confirmed. "It's just a coincidence."

"Yeah, just a coincidence."

They both returned their attention to the game. Once more he was being attacked by skeletons and Arthur had to rescue him.

"You are useless with a sword Martin," he muttered.

"Haven't I always been," he returned, throat suddenly going dry.

But what if it wasn't a coincidence? What if there was more to it? Martin shivered slightly.

* * *

Arthur swirled the contents of his glass, gazing at the amber liquid. Unable to stop thinking about what Martin had said earlier on_. 'I don't dream of him as such … but … like I am him'._

It was ridiculous, he inwardly scoffed and took a sip of the bourbon.

'_I'm not going to lose you.'_

'_You're not saying goodbye.'_

His hand shook.

_Merlin._

What he needed was to get drunk, and put an end to these ramblings inside of his head. He poured himself another glass. _'You ever sometimes say something, and think you've said that before?'_

'_Yeah, sometimes, why?'_

This was ludicrous. But he couldn't shake the thoughts.

'_Just now it was like … like you helping me … it's not the first time.'_

'_Maybe I was your servant in a former life.'_

Picking up the TV remote he turned the volume up.

'_Can't see you being one. You're too bloody insolent. You wouldn't have lasted a day.'_

'_Yeah. I am. Doubt that'll ever change.'_

A set of wide blue eyes, a cheeky grin, a mop of black hair. _'I don't want you to change. I always want you … to be you.'_

Arthur skulled the rest of the contents of his glass. Rubbed his chest at the dull ache there.

'_It's just a coincidence.'_

Nothing more. Nothing less.

'_Yeah, just a coincidence.'_

Maybe he shouldn't drink anymore. Maybe he needed to dream. The answers lay there. He wanted to … no he needed to see Merlin's face. _It had been so long after all._

Placing the glass on his bedside table, Arthur flicked the television off with the remote control. He was tired. The swimming, water and sun he was no longer used to, had worn him out.

If he could walk again. He would never take another day for granted. _So many days he had. Too many responsibilities. There had been no time for fun. Not really._

Arthur yawned. The alcohol, numbing his mind. It wasn't entirely unpleasant either.

Martin knew how to have fun. In fact he made life better, more interesting … more alive. _'He's my friend. I can't lose him.'_

His eyelids began to droop from tiredness. Random words flittered through his mind. So fast he could barely recall them.

'_This boy won't be the last to die on your behalf.' _

'_I know I'm just a servant and my word doesn't count for anything.'_

'_I need a servant I can trust.'_

'_You can trust me.'_

'_Merlin. I'm going back for him.'_

'_For a servant?'_

'_I always thought if things had been different, we would have been good friends.'_

'_You're the only friend I have. I couldn't bear to lose you.'_

'_Merlin!'_

'_I'm a dead man.'_

'_I've seen worse. I've definitely seen worse.'_

'_Leave me.'_

'_Now's not the time for jokes.'_

'_Please leave me.'_

'_Arthur.'_

'_Shut up Merlin.'_

'_Thank you for saving my life.'_

'_You would do the same for me.'_

There were no more dreams. Not of the lake. Not of anything. He couldn't account for the few silent tears that trickled down his cheeks. Hastily wiping them away. Not even realising he was crying in his half asleep state.

* * *

He wasn't getting in the car. There was no way he could do it. His father hadn't been happy. Since when was his father ever happy anyway? But he just couldn't do it. Surely his father had to understand that?

He did, however, get out of bed. Have breakfast before making himself comfortable on the sofa in the living room. Legs propped up on the sofa. A bag of popcorn in his hand. Subjecting himself to another boring morning of daytime television. He flicked through the channels. Not interested in cooking shows or gardening shows. Beauty and geek, he scoffed at that. The Biggest Loser, definitely not watching that. Re-runs of Little House on the Prairie, Dr Quinn Medicine Woman, no, no … was there nothing decent on television these days? Hang on Dr Quinn wasn't too bad.

The doorbell chimed.

Rosie, the housemaid, would answer it. He shoved another handful of popcorn in his mouth. Changed the channel again. Skins. Okay this was better.

"Arthur?"

He looked up startled and straight into Gwen's face. What the hell … what was she doing here? He quickly swallowed.

"Gwen …" he began. Not knowing what to say, caught totally unawares.

She seemed as nervous and apprehensive as he felt.

"What are you doing here?" he slowly asked.

"Seeing as you can't come into work your father asked me to come here and work with you." She offered in way of explanation.

He did? He could have at least told him of this arrangement. He would have dressed better than he currently was. Daggy old board shorts, a t-shirt that had seen better days. It was currently hot and he'd dressed accordingly.

When he went into work he made it his best interest to cover up every square inch of his skin he possibly could. High collared shirts, long legged trousers. And although he was wearing a pressurised bandage on his right hand and arm it still didn't cover everything. There was still the scars on his collar bone. His right leg.

"He never told me about it," he spoke, trying to sound neutral about the whole thing.

He glanced down at his bare feet. And did he even brush his hair this morning? He ran a hand over his chin. When was the last time he shaved?

"I should go dress better," he continued.

A slow smile crossed her pretty face. "You don't have to dress up on my account."

Of course not, but still. Yes he did. He was highly self-conscious of her presence. He put this down to being so long without a woman.

She walked across the floor. He shifted his legs from the sofa to the floor. Feeling awkward and sort of embarrassed. He held the bag of popcorn towards her.

"You want some?"

He didn't know what else to say. He'd been caught in the process of stuffing his face, and watching television, he might as well make light of it. She took a handful and promptly sat beside him on the sofa.

"What are you watching?"

"Nothing terribly exciting. It is daytime TV after all."

He still vividly recalled what had taken place between them four days ago. Still felt the shame. Yet also the attraction. She was amazing. She was beautiful in more ways than one. In heart and soul and everything that really should ever matter.

And he'd never felt this way with another woman before. Hadn't noticed every little thing about them like he did with her. The sweetness of her smile, the kindness in her brown eyes. And then it struck him like a bolt out of the blue. He loved her. This was possibly what true love was. _'I've never loved another.'_ The popcorn got stuck in his throat. He coughed. Great bloody timing too!

"Arthur," she began, looking worried, "You're choking."

He managed to clear his throat, his eyes watering. "N-No … alright."

"I'll get you a glass of water."

Terrific. It was this affect she bloody well had over him. He wasn't choking. Okay, maybe he was a little. But it was more an irritation of the throat.

She returned with a glass of water. Now he was really embarrassed. This is where he was supposed to be manly. Charm her in some way. Not bloody well take the glass of water and skull its contents, because well he really was kind of thirsty.

He wiped a hand over his mouth. So much for dignity. Not that he no longer knew what that was. He quickly placed the glass on the coffee table.

"Sorry," he muttered, pulling his shorts further down over the scars on his leg. Wishing to cover himself in many layers of clothing, wanting to feel not so exposed.

Obviously noticing his discomfort she blurted out. "It doesn't repulse me." And so fervently too. There was such a depth of sincerity in her warm brown eyes.

"Are you still so vain Arthur?"

He took a deep pained breath. Trust her to put him in this awkward position. And yes, maybe he was. Even if he didn't want to admit it.

"Well you see," he began, "Vanity is a funny thing, because it becomes so tied up with our sense of self."

"You should never feel less about yourself. What happened to you was not of your own doing."

He momentarily shut his eyes. Of course not. But he noted the double meaning of her words. What had happened to her … did she still think it was of her own doing? No. Pray, tell that wasn't so_? 'I felt it was my fault in a way. I was dressed too provocatively. I had asked for it.'_

"None of us," he muttered in a hoarse voice, "Asked for what happened to us."

Her eyes lit up in surprise at his words. "That means you too Gwen."

Her eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn't define. A single tear glistened on the end of her eye lashes. And so help him god he was going to do something he probably shouldn't … but couldn't stop. Raising a hand he gently wiped away the single tear that trickled down her cheek. Her skin was so smooth, so soft. His eyes met with hers. And … what the hell was happening to him? He couldn't, he just couldn't take advantage of her vulnerability.

"Gwen." His voice hitched in his throat. But how much he longed to hold her. The pull towards her was so strong.

The sudden jarring shrill of his mobile phone startled him out of his thoughts. Bloody hell. He reached for the phone, annoyed and relieved at the same time.

"Hello."

"Arthur."

It was his father.

"I've sent Gwen over to work with you."

"She is here."

And some bloody warning would have been nice! Trust his father never to think of his feelings. He glanced at Gwen. Who seemed to have recovered relatively quickly and was already pulling files out of the bag she carried. Not that his father would ever imagine him being attracted to her.

"I think it is better you be kept busy Arthur," his father continued. "Gwen is hard working and an asset to the company."

Yes, he was well aware of that and … um other things.

"Yes, Father," he mumbled. "I'll work with her."

"Good." He could imagine his father nodding his head in approval.

"Keep focused Arthur," his father's last words.

Easier said than done.

* * *

He wanted to work hard when Martin put him through his paces. It felt good. Working up a sweat. Even if the parallel bars frustrated the hell out of him. If only he could get his useless legs to move!

Weather permitting, they would go into the pool after his therapy sessions, then play Mine Craft.

"I would like to walk again Martin," he confessed.

"Then you have to persist, Arthur. You have to be strong. You have to believe."

Believing was one thing, the actual reality another. Each day he willed his legs to move. Each morning Gwen came to the house and they worked together. If he could just walk again, then maybe he could offer her something. And not just the broken man he had become. She deserved so much more. He was merely being selfish if he tied her to someone like him.

It was another Friday evening. He was tired. In more ways than one. He was feeling dejected. He still wasn't able to walk the length of the parallel bays. He didn't want to give up hope, but hope was fast fading.

But still Martin persisted. Encouraging him, even taunting him to do it. He gripped the bars tightly with his hands. Glaring at Martin, because he wanted to give up. And Martin would let him.

He could feel beads of perspiration on his forehead in his effort to make his legs move.

"This is a waste of time Martin," he muttered.

"You said you wanted to walk again."

"I know what I said!" he snapped, looking down at his legs and willing them to move. "It's not going to happen."

"Not with that attitude it won't," Martin retorted.

One of these days he was going to throttle him.

"Just get me the chair," he grimaced.

"No."

He glared at him.

"I can't do this."

"You can."

"I'm going to fall!"

"Then I'll catch you."

"Just get me the god damn chair!" he roared.

He could see a flicker of hesitation cross Martin's face. "Just try harder."

"What would you know?!"

"You are right," he sighed, "I wouldn't know what you are going through, this is your battle Arthur."

His battle. Yes, it was. The toughest battle of his life.

"Have faith," Martin murmured.

Those two simple words … they gave him goose bumps. _Have faith … _he had heard those words before. Somewhere. It tugged at the deeper recesses of his mind.

Martin watched the conflicting emotions cross Arthur's face. A determination took hold. It made his spine tingle. He knew that look. He'd seen it before. Just not here. The air around them was filled with an unseen energy. Could Arthur feel it too? He locked his gaze on his face. Arthur's eyes were tightly shut, his forehead screwed up in concentration. He mentally willed Arthur's legs to move. And slowly they did. C'mon Arthur, you can do this, he inwardly murmured. There was nothing left to be said. Words were no longer necessary. Arthur knew what he had to do.

It was up to him to now do it.

Martin held his breath as Arthur, slowly, but surely moved his legs. He watched mesmerised. _You can do it, you can do it Arthur._

"Shut up Martin," Arthur grunted. "I'm trying to concentrate."

What? He hadn't even said the words out loud, had he? He looked at Arthur wordlessly. All the hairs on the back of his arms and neck, now sticking up. He quickly rubbed his arms. Then with much shock he suddenly realised that Arthur had actually reached the end.

"Arthur," he spoke. "Open your eyes."

His eyes sprung open.

"Look behind you," he continued.

He turned his head, instant shock registering on his face.

"You did it." Martin couldn't help the stupid grin crossing his face. "You made the whole distance."

Arthur's eyes were bright with unshed tears. Although he looked exhausted, there was a light in his eyes. Martin had seen if before. When a patient suddenly went from being lethargic, depressed to realizing they could do this. That sense of accomplishment.

Quickly grabbing his wheelchair, he helped Arthur back into it.

Arthur felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but also strangely triumphant. He lowered himself into the chair, a few tears escaped from his eyes which he hastily wiped away. He couldn't bring himself to look at Martin. He had to catch his breath. He had to get the emotions coursing through him in check.

His eyes eventually met with Martin's. Martin was grinning in that idiotic fashion of his. And hope, just a spark, flared to life. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

"You think, Martin," he began, "That I'll be able to walk again one day?"

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do."

He felt a slow smile cross his face. "Let's go swimming," he suggested. "I need to cool off."

* * *

Arthur watched Martin bound around the pool like some puppy suddenly let off its leash. Throwing rocks in the pool, seeing who could get the most. Then a slow thought took hold. It was because of Martin he had come this far. Martin … he never gave up. Martin, who never stopped believing in him. _I swear I will protect you or die at your side. _

Tears blurred his vision. Martin looked at him concerned.

"Arthur, what is it?"

"I-I don't know," he swallowed, "just a feeling … a thought … I-I …"

Martin merely grinned and splashed him. "Not like you to get all sentimental."

And how could he know that? How did he understand him like he'd known him his whole life?

* * *

_The water was soothing but he felt restless. Merlin was waiting for him. He had to see him. He had to tell him it would be alright. This wasn't the end. But it had been such a long time. Time was meaningless here in this place. The lake. Arthur found himself swimming to the surface, the light that glittered above him._

_He reached the surface, gulping in the fresh air._

_Merlin!_

_His feet touched the muddy floor bed of the lake. His gaze frantically searched the shore line. Merlin?!_

_A young man stood there, head bent, tears coursing down his cheeks. The grief so palpable it made his heart ache._

'_Merlin!'_

_His voice rendered the still air, loud and strong._

_The young man slowly raised his face. That face, so long since he had last seen it._

_That face …. He swallowed. What? It was Merlin … no._

_Martin?_

_._

_._

* * *

_._

**A/N: Reviews are like payment in nuggets of gold. Always loved and very much appreciated. Okay all of my lovely readers, there is only one more chapter left of this story and possibly an epilogue. As said, from the beginning, this was only going to be a short story. I've loved writing it but it had never been my intention to make it a saga :) I already have one of those happening.**

**As my hectic work schedule is beginning to ease up I will return to writing my other (more complicated story) that I haven't forgotten. **

**.**


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